The Serpent's Lure
by Sevilodorf
Summary: Now Complete. Upon the Pelennor, new grown grass covers the remnants of the great battle: splintered spears and shattered swords, and perhaps, something more. A Fourth Age Tale with original characters. Reviews appreciated.
1. Part One

The Serpent's Lure  
  
By Sevilodorf  
  
June 2004

* * *

_Disclaimer: Minas Tirith and Middle-Earth are creations of JRR Tolkien which I borrow with the utmost respect. The characters populating this Fourth Age vision of the White City are my own._

* * *

Minas Tirith  
  
Spring 1422 Shire Reckoning  
  
Part One  
  
In answer to a request from King Elessar, the elves of the Greenwood had spent the past two years lovingly placing seed, root and cutting into every nook and cranny; thus, with the arrival of the gentle breath of spring in the third year of the reign of King Elessar, the City of Stone blossomed into a veritable garden. Besieged on every side by the sights and scents of growing greenery, the people of Minas Tirith found themselves caught up in an overwhelming sense of renewal. Smiles were the order of the day and many in the White City discovered themselves bursting into song for no apparent reason. However, there were still a few who found cause to be discontent.  
  
"It isn't fair," grumbled the shorter of two boys making their way along the winding road to the upper circles. His attention was focused on the task of kicking a stone just beyond the reach of his companion while avoiding exuberant, if slightly unnecessary, assistance from a very large black and tan dog.  
  
"No, but there's no use whining about it," said the taller, easily returning the rock.  
  
"Don't talk like that, Rolfe," the other replied with the rolling accent the Rohirrim gave to the Common Tongue as he raced forward to give the stone a sideways kick before it could be snapped up by the jaws of the third player in this game of keep away. Triumphantly, he cried, "I got to it first, Dog!"  
  
Dodging around a matron balancing a laundry basket against her hip, Rolfe managed to intercept the stone before it rolled beneath her feet. Picking it up and tossing it lightly, he frowned at his human companion.  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like Esdav. Always lecturing me." Stopping suddenly, his young face filling with puzzlement as he brushed a lock of pale blond hair from his eyes, the boy asked, "Why are big brothers so bossy?"  
  
"Dunno, never had one."  
  
"You've got one now, and he's the bossiest person I've ever known."  
  
Rolfe shrugged. "He doesn't boss me around."  
  
"That's cause you always do what you're told. Don't you ever get into trouble?"  
  
Shoving the stone into his pocket, the dark haired boy's face twisted momentarily with sorrow, and he muttered, "Sometimes." [1]  
  
Responding to the sadness in the lad's voice, Dog padded over to lean against his legs and give a soft whine.  
  
Immediately the other boy regretted his words and exclaimed, "I'm sorry, Rolfe. Nmad, I can't do anything right."  
  
"Never mind, Estev. You didn't do anything." Scratching behind Dog's ear, Rolfe said, "Though if your dad catches you cursing, he'll be mad as all get out."  
  
Estev punched Rolfe's arm. "Told you to stop talking like that."  
  
Rolfe punched him back. "If Esdav is my older brother, then I'm yours."  
  
"You're only a few months older." Estev rubbed his arm thoughtfully. "Why don't you be my twin instead?"  
  
Grinning widely, and deciding not to insist that Estev show proper respect for the nine-month difference in their ages, Rolfe's brown eyes lit up. "Good idea. But, you know, we're going to be in big trouble if we keep Master Gemthir waiting."  
  
Estev's smile vanished. "It just isn't fair."  
  
Giving his foster brother a small shove, Rolfe laughed. "It's only a few hours. We'll be free at noon. Come on."  
  
Glumly, Estev nodded and followed Rolfe and Dog slowly up the cobblestone road, sorrowfully contemplating the injustice of having to spend a spring morning trapped within the stone walls of Master Gemthir's hall, poring over the dullest text imaginable. Why for once, couldn't they study something interesting? Like the siege of the City? Or the construction of the battlements? Every time he asked about something like that, the tutor got this line between his eyes and lectured for twenty minutes on the necessity of acquiring the skills essential for lifelong learning. What more did he need to know about reading and writing? He was going to become a Rider in the éored of Éomer King and would have no need to learn such useless stuff.

* * *

There is no doubt that the passage of time varies depending upon the task at hand. And of equal little doubt is the fact that time passes slowest when one is sitting next to an open window that allows one to see just what is being missed. Outside, the sunshine beamed on fields that needed to be run through, trees that begged to be climbed, secret places that simply must be explored by inquisitive boys - not to mention that huge trout waiting in a certain pool on the river. Estev would find the bait that drew that monster; it just needed a little patience, a little sitting in the sun with a pole and a line and a lazy afternoon.  
  
With great difficulty, Estev forced his eyes back to the slate before him. At least today had turned out to be mathematics. He could see some use for that. Still, he already knew more figuring than most of the men working for his father as traders. Would this morning never end?  
  
Sensing Master Gemthir's watchful eye, Estev surreptitiously rubbed out the tiny drawing of a trout that had somehow appeared in the corner of his slate and focused upon the problem before him. Finishing his calculations with a flourish, he displayed his work for the approval of the tutor.  
  
"Well done, Estev. Your grasp of mathematical processes is excellent." Estev smiled broadly until the man reached out a bony finger to tap the corner of the slate and add blandly, "When you keep your mind on your studies."  
  
"Yes, sir," Estev said with another longing glance out the window.  
  
"Ah, well, I can sense that it would be counterproductive to continue our lessons today. You may go, boys; however, I will expect you to be prepared to study most diligently on the morrow."  
  
For a moment, Estev could do nothing but stare blankly at the man. Not until he heard Dog's welcoming bark when Rolfe opened the door to leave did Estev allow himself to believe they were to be paroled.  
  
In a rush, he said, "Oh, thank you, sir. And I will do better. I swear."  
  
Master Gemthir permitted a small smile to briefly cross his thin face. "I am certain of it, young man." As Estev sketched a hasty bow and bounded toward the door, he called, "And Estevï‚..."  
  
"Yes, sir?"  
  
"Are you aware that some trout are partial to crayfish?"  
  
"Crayfish?" replied Estev balanced on the doorsill. "Oh, thank you, sir. I never thought of that." Bobbing his head in farewell, he followed Rolfe out into the bright spring morning.  
  
Shaking his head at the boy, Gemthir gathered the slates his young pupils had deserted so eagerly. Passing the window, his eye was drawn to the sparkling waters of the Anduin. It had been years since he had spent the afternoon on its bank.  
  
Setting the slates in a haphazard pile upon a sideboard, Master Gemthir muttered, "Yes...crayfish, though some prefer dragonflies or grasshoppers. I wonder where I might‚... "

* * *

_Author Notes: Many character names used here evolved from Role Playing Situations and while not strictly canon are what the characters prefer to be called. You try getting a Rohirrim to answer to a name he doesn't like._[1] More of the story of Rolfe and Dog can be found in "The Mysterious Stranger" on file at burpingtroll.com 


	2. Part Two

The Serpent's Lure

Part Two  
  
As the boys were not expected to return to the stable yard before the noon meal, their unforeseen release from Master Gemthir left them with time to call their own. Merrily, Rolfe and Estev raced their furry companion down the stone streets of the city; their passage drew smiles from more than one face and wistful looks from those not fortunate enough to escape from their labors to enjoy the pleasures of the spring day.  
  
"Where can I get some crayfish?" Estev asked as they entered the second circle tunnel.  
  
"In the river, I suppose. Why do you need crayfish?" Rolfe's voice echoed within the confines of the passageway.  
  
"Master Gemthir said that trout like them."  
  
"Really? I never knew that."  
  
"Neither did I. Why doesn't he teach us important stuff like that instead of all that boring stuff? Like all that reading he makes us do."  
  
"Dunno. But some of it isn't so bad. What about the story of Queen Beruthiel?"  
  
"That one was good, but that's just it. It's a story. Why can't they all be?"  
  
Rolfe thought on that for a moment; and as they emerged from the tunnel, he said, "I guess 'cause no one wrote the other stories down."  
  
"But you don't have to write them down," Estev said forcefully. "Writing them means someone's got to read them. And reading's hard work. It's easier when you just tell 'em or sing 'em."  
  
Rolfe nodded. Since the death of his parents nearly a year ago and his subsequent adoption into the family of Esiwmas of Rohan, he had heard more than one skald recite the family lists at funerals and the namings of babies. At the Yule festivals, the song masters had sung countless verses of the stories of Eorl and of Helm Hammerhand. He knew hundreds of songs had been memorized; but somehow, it just made more sense to him if things were written down. Once Master Gemthir had taken them to the archives and Rolfe could still remember looking up at those shelves of books and rolls of scrolls and thinking, _'Every one of them has something important to say.'_  
  
Glancing sideways at Estev, Rolfe knew he could never voice that opinion to his friend who cared most for riding and lessons in swordplay and archery. Estev was quick enough at figures, faster than himself if one were honest; yet, the other boy found no joy in reading of the past or studying far off lands.  
  
'_Someday,'_ Rolfe thought. '_I'll go to all those places. Umbar and Linhir. Maybe even Rivendell and the Grey Havens.'  
_  
Waving a greeting at the men on duty at the first circle's gate and calling Dog back from his inspection of a pie vendor's wares, the boys began debating the merits of a trip to the docks. Estev, being filled only with thoughts of the enormous trout, was determined to at least locate the crayfish suggested by Master Gemthir as bait while Rolfe felt they would be better off reporting for chores before the noon meal in hopes of freeing up the entire afternoon. So engrossed in their argument were they that it was not until a stone skittered across the pavement before their feet that they noticed the handful of boys attempting to capture their attention.  
  
"Hey!" shouted Estev as Dog growled menacingly at the source of the stone. Bounding across the road in front of a man with a handcart filled with a load of firewood, the boy shouted, "You throwing rocks at us?"  
  
Dog, to his disgust, found a firm hand prevented him from joining Estev in his confrontation with the rock thrower.  
  
"Just getting your attention. Wasn't trying to hit you with it," replied a hefty boy with a wide grin.  
  
Estev nodded. If the dark haired boy had meant to hit them, he and Rolfe would be nursing stone sized bruises. Curthan received regular practice using a sling to bring down small game birds in the fields outside the city. He then sold the feathers to the hat makers and the birds to the poulters.  
  
Sooty faced Karston pointed towards the upper circles of the city. "You been up to Master Gemthir's?"  
  
Estev scowled. "Yes. A waste of a perfect morning."  
  
"Not quite," said Rolfe quietly joining the group after ensuring that Dog understood these were friends, no matter how close the rock had come. "He did tell you about the crayfish."  
  
"That's right, he did." Turning eagerly to the other boys, Estev said, "Know anywhere to get some crayfish?"  
  
"Depends on what you want them for," answered the tallest of the group. Lanky, with a scattering of freckles across his nose, the boy possessed the confidant air of a leader. "You planning on eating them?"  
  
"Nah, I need 'em for bait," Estev said and launched into an explanation of Master Gemthir's theory that trout liked crayfish. "What do you think of that, Shaymur?"  
  
"Don't know for sure. Never seen anybody doing it," the freckle faced boy admitted. "But it makes sense."  
  
"Ah, come on," interrupted Curthan. "We got more important business than fishing. Don't we, Shay?" Receiving a nod, Curthan nudged the boy next to him with a large elbow and demanded, "Show them, Ferlan."  
  
Ferlan, thin and dark with wild, shaggy hair, made a show of looking about carefully then reaching into his shirt to draw out a small object that he kept hidden in his clasped fist. "You've got to promise you won't tell."  
  
Indignantly Estev complained, "We aren't babble babies."  
  
After glancing around once more, Ferlan held out a grubby hand and slowly opened it to reveal a small golden medallion. The serpent engraved there appeared to twist in the morning sun and Estev reached out a tentative finger to stroke the gleaming gold. Dog, not having quite so many manners, gave Ferlan's hand a slurp to test the taste of whatever it was the boy was holding.  
  
Snatching his hand away, Ferlan closed his fist tightly. "You can't touch it. I'm gonna trade it to the captain of the fourth circle gate. He always pays the best for what we find. My brother said I can keep all the money for this one for myself."  
  
"I wasn't going to hurt it," huffed Estev.  
  
Karston rubbed his forehead with a sleeve, leaving a streak of whiter skin. "Go on, tell him the best part."  
  
Eyeing Dog with distaste, Ferlan tucked the medallion carefully into his shirt, then with a secretive expression said, "I know where there's lots more."  
  
As Estev eagerly exclaimed, "Where?" Rolfe looked skeptically at Ferlan. Working in the fields with his brother, Ferlan had the best luck of all the boys finding relics from the battles, but it was seldom that he would consider revealing the location of his finds. And even more suspicious, to Rolfe's mind, was that Ferlan's brother, a notoriously tightfisted man, would allow Ferlan to keep all of the profit from this medallion.  
  
Frowning, Rolfe called Dog to his side and said, "What's the catch, Ferlan? Why are you so eager to share?"  
  
Shaymur gave Rolfe an approving nod for the question and turned with arms folded across his chest toward Ferlan. "Yes, why are you so eager?"  
  
Rolfe felt a flush of pride from Shaymur's approval. The older boy was well respected by the group though lately he had been spending more and more of his time at the main gate offering to guide visitors safely through Minas Tirith's bewildering pathways. Shaymur worked, not for pocket money as Curthan did, but to pay back the relatives who had taken in his family after his father's death during the war.  
  
Karston and Curthan looked from Rolfe to Shaymur, then turned to face Ferlan with questioning faces. It had not occurred to them that there might be more to this offer than met the eye, until Rolfe suggested it; but seeing that Shaymur, their recognized leader, obviously thought it a worthy idea, they would as well.  
  
Estev, meanwhile, was completely disgusted with himself. Here he was, the son of a trader, and he had reached out to stroke that gold like a goodwife ran her hands along a coveted bolt of cloth. Hadn't he learned anything? You never, ever, let the seller know how much you wanted something. It always drove the price up. Fixing Ferlan with a hard stare, Estev muttered imprecations in Rohirric at himself.  
  
Ferlan sensing the anger behind the words, though completely at a loss to know what they meant, shuffled his feet. Nervously he looked from one boy to the next, and finally at the large grinning canine at Rolfe's feet. He had told his brother it wouldn't work, but Harlan had insisted.  
  
"Uh... well, uh...we don't have the money to hire any workers so he said that if we would clear a new field we could keep half the relics we found." Ferlan heaved a heavy sigh and waited for his friends' reactions.  
  
Karston shook his head and scrubbed his face again with a sleeve, once more leaving a trail of cleaner skin behind. "Half. We clear the field and only get half. Are you out of your mind?"  
  
"Wait a minute, Karston. It all depends," Shaymur said thoughtfully. "Ferlan, let me see that medallion again."  
  
After once again checking that no one was paying them any mind, Ferlan reluctantly passed his find to Shaymur.  
  
"There's more of them? You're certain?"  
  
"I found another like that and a lot of broken armor and things. Harlan took all that, but everywhere we walked this morning we kept finding stuff. Must have been the rain last week."  
  
All the boys nodded. With every rain, new items emerged from the Pelennor Fields. Rusty bits of blades and buckles were the most common finds, but now and then something better turned up. Karston had once found a carved set of dice, and Curthan was the proud owner of what he declared was the bone of an oliphaunt. But it had been many months since anything like the medallion had been found.  
  
"What you have to understand," Shaymur began in a voice that focused all eyes on him, "is that the Haradrim nobles use these as badges for their household soldiers. And if Ferlan found three, there's probably more."  
  
"How many more?" Curthan asked. The thought of hauling cart loads of debris out of a field suddenly seemed more work than he wanted to do simply in hopes that they might find something worthwhile.  
  
With a grin, Shaymur said, "The last noble from Harad had more than twenty household soldiers."  
  
"And Haradrim soldiers fight to the death if their noble is killed," said Rolfe holding out his hand. Ferlan bit back his protest as Shaymur flipped the medallion to Rolfe.  
  
"Look. See how the snake is coiled to the right. This was a captain's badge. If it were coiling left, it would just be that of a common soldier"  
  
"How do you know that?" Estev asked as Rolfe passed the gold piece back to Ferlan.  
  
"It was in one of Master Gemthir's books."  
  
"I don't remember that one," Estev said.  
  
"It was during the last trip. When Esdav came," Rolfe said offhandedly.  
  
Estev gave a jerky nod. He had never before thought anything of the fact that he and his brother alternated trips to Minas Tirith while Rolfe came every time. Did that mean that Esdav had learned about the Haradrim soldiers as well? And neither one of them mentioned it at all. Filing the information away for later thought, Estev turned back to Ferlan.  
  
"Do the others you found coil left or right?"  
  
Ferlan lifted his hands in a gesture of uncertainty.  
  
Karston blew out an exasperated breath. "You do at least know where you found them, don't you?  
  
"I know. Butï‚¼" Ferlan swallowed audibly, then finished in a rush. "Harlan won't let us search for anything if we don't pick out the broken bits and pieces. He's wanting to run a flock there."  
  
The other boys exchanged glances. They all knew Harlan's heavy hand with his brother.  
  
"I dunno," said Karston rubbing clean yet another portion of his face. "I've got to be back to load the ovens for the afternoon baking. I've only got 'til the noon bell."  
  
Rolfe said, "Us too. We've got to be back at noon or we'll catch it as well."  
  
Shaymur frowned. "It will go a lot easier with all of us working. What if we go check it out and if it looks good we'll take turns at it tomorrow? We'll share and share alike on whatever's found."  
  
Ferlan's face brightened as he looked anxiously from face to face. "I swear there's more out there, honest."  
  
Curthan's eyes narrowed and Karston frowned doubtfully; but after a long moment of silence, they shrugged and turned to Shaymur.  
  
The lanky boy gave a smile of approval, then faced Rolfe. "Are you in or out, fellows?"  
  
"We're in," Estev said loudly. Seeing the worry in Rolfe's eye, he added, "At least to go check it out. But we do have to be back for the noon meal."


	3. Part Three

Part Three  
  
Dog knew the strange tasting object was the cause of the boys' excitement, but not why. It certainly hadn't tasted good enough to eat. With a shake of his head, he forgot such questions and concentrated on the joy of racing along with his boy. The sunshine was warm and a slight breeze carried with it the smells of spring. Dog bounded back to urge his boy to catch up. Truly it was too bad he had only two legs.  
  
"I'm coming, Dog," laughed Rolfe in response to the commanding bark of the dog.  
  
Dog sneezed as the scent of spices wafted on the air. With a sharp yip he raced ahead of the pack of boys to investigate the intriguing odors coming from an open doorway.  
  
Three years ago, the great engines of the enemy had hurled flaming missiles and reduced this circle of the city to little more than rubble. Many years were yet to pass before all traces of destruction were vanquished, but with the assistance of dwarvish stonemasons and elvish craftsmen, the people had begun the arduous task of rebuilding. In their wisdom, the Guildmasters and Council of Magistrates had determined that henceforth living quarters would be confined to the second circle and above. Thus the first circle was now reserved for businesses like that of the Rohirrim trader Esiwmas who had been among the first to recognize that the return of the king also meant the return of trade routes spanning the breadth of Gondor and Rohan.  
  
_'Luckily,_' Estev thought as the boys ran past a warehouse in its final stages of construction, '_Father's stables and storehouses are in the opposite direction. Where is Ferlan leading us anyway?"_  
  
Leaving the main corridor, Ferlan wove a path toward the Othram. Abruptly, the buildings ended and the boys came to a sliding halt at the sight before them. A series of ramps and hoists had been erected along both sides of the City's outer wall and were now swarming with men engaged in the task of transferring mountains of cargo from one side of the wall to the other.  
  
"Better hold onto Dog," Ferlan tossed over his shoulder before joining the parade of workers winding their way up the nearest ramp.  
  
Rolfe nodded and pulled a piece of thin grey cord from his pocket to loop around Dog's neck. In response to Karston's disbelieving expression, he said, "It's stronger than it looks."  
  
Dog, knowing that the elven rope was indeed strong enough to hold him, gave a resigned shake and settled for sniffing the air eagerly.  
  
Slowly, they climbed, taking care not to interfere with the work of the laborers. Reaching the top of the wall the boys were able to see the ships crowded against the docks of Harlond; for here, the city's walls and the mighty Anduin were separated by less than a mile.  
  
Catching up to Rolfe, Estev panted, "Where is that fool taking us?"  
  
Rolfe shrugged, but Curthan turned to call back, "His brother's got grazing rights on some land just beyond the base of the ramps."  
  
Rolfe and Estev exchanged knowing looks. This was the key to Harlan's plot. The boys would do the work, which earned the farmer his pasture, as well as take a percentage of any important finds they made.  
  
Rolfe pulled Dog up short and grabbing Estev by the arm to move him from the path of a group of men rolling barrels toward the ramps leading back into the City. "This deal is sounding more and more lopsided as we go."  
  
Estev chewed his bottom lip and watched as the other boys began the zigzagging slope downwards. "Can't we check it out? If you still don't feel right after we go look, we'll tell Ferlan, 'No'."  
  
Reluctantly, Rolfe nodded. "But if there's no sign of anything today, I'm not coming back to scrounge around in the dirt for Harlan. You can if you want, but I won't."  
  
Estev agreed eagerly and, weaving his way rapidly down the ramp, rejoined the other boys, leaving Rolfe to trail along behind. 


	4. Part Four

Part Four  
  
Slowly, ever so slowly, Dog inched forward then froze. Every muscle quivering with suppressed excitement, he stared intently at the small knoll ahead. A flash of brown, and Dog darted forward, only to feel his teeth close on air and hear whistling laughter as the ground squirrel escaped once again.  
  
"You'll never catch one," said Rolfe as Dog threw himself to the ground with a huff. "Why don't you just give up?"  
  
"Better yet," came Estev's voice from the direction of a nearby ditch. "Have him dig."  
  
Looking around at his adopted brother, Rolfe sighed. "Not for medals he won't. Now if you were going after oliphaunt bones, he'd be the first in line."  
  
Grabbing the hand Estev held out and pulling the younger boy to his feet, Rolfe pointed at the sun overhead. "Karston went back half an hour ago. I agree there's bound to be something out here, and I'll come back with you tomorrow afternoon and search as long as you want. But, Estev, I'm starving, aren't you?"  
  
Rolfe made no mention of the fact that some form of punishment was certain to be awaiting them for failing to return on time.  
  
Kicking at the ground, Estev nodded. He knew there was something out here. He could feel it, but where?  
  
The scars laid across the Pelennor fields would, like the City's, take many years to fade; but Estev had never seen the land as it had been before the war. To him, the crisscross pattern of half-filled trenches and the mounds raised over the dead were how it had always appeared. Born in the rolling grasslands near the Deeping Stream, Estev thought the fields dotted with newly constructed oasts and byres too settled. He preferred the area beyond the distant walls and the way it seemed to go on forever. Though he enjoyed these times with his father in Minas Tirith, Estev's heart was given to the Deeping Vale and the mountain pastures of his family. Let Esdav take over this part of the family's businesses, he would stay in Rohan and raise horses. If he didn't join Éomer King's éored, that is.  
  
"All right, might as well. If we hurry, at least we'll still get something to eat."  
  
Estev turned to begin the walk back to the wall when Ferlan's voice hollered, "Hey, you bring that back here."  
  
Dog woofed loudly as a black and white form sped past.  
  
Rolfe dove for the dangling bit of elven rope and held on tightly, shouting, "No, Dog!"  
  
"Catch the blasted mutt," cried Ferlan. "He's got my lunch."  
  
Curthan pulled free the sling he wore on his belt and gathered up two smooth stones. "I'll get him for you."  
  
"No, don't!" called Estev running after the thief. "It's only a dog. It's probably just hungry."  
  
"So am I!" exclaimed Ferlan indignantly. "And I want my lunch back."  
  
"Too late for that," said Shaymur trotting over from the hillock he had been examining. "He's already swallowed it."  
  
Faces red and sweating under the spring sun, Ferlan and Curthan stared down at Rolfe, who had his arms clasped tightly around Dog's neck.  
  
"Why didn't you let him go? He'd have caught the mangy thief," Ferlan said with disgust.  
  
Rolfe was prevented from having to justify his actions, when Estev, glancing continuously over his shoulder, returned holding a kerchief wrapped bundle.  
  
"Your lunch," he said tossing the package to Ferlan.  
  
"And where's the thief?" asked Shaymur.  
  
"He's just hungry, that's all," replied Estev, and patted his leg, whistling.  
  
Slowly the grasses parted and a black and white herding dog crawled from the grass to lie with pleading eyes directed at the boys. The dog's ribs could be seen through the coat of dense fur. As the dog sat up and waved an entreating paw at the boys, Ferlan looked down at the bundle in his hand. With a sigh, he pulled the knot and tossed the bread and cheese to the animal who, after an open mouthed grin of thanks, gulped the food in three large bites.  
  
Shaymur patted Ferlan on the back and looked at Rolfe who simply shrugged. Estev reached out a slow hand and scratched the dog gently behind the ear.  
  
"You're going to take him?" Shaymur asked quietly. "I would, but there's no room at my grandsire's for a dog."  
  
Curthan rolled up his sling and said, "You saved its life, Estev. You're responsible for it."  
  
"Just needs some feeding up and he'll be fine," said Estev almost to himself. In a worried tone, he asked, "Rolfe?"  
  
"Up to you. But you're the one who has to ask your father."  
  
Estev stroked the dog's head once more and received a small lick of gratitude. "Guess it won't hurt to try."  
  
"Dunno about that," Rolfe replied with another glance toward the sun. "Considering how late we're gonna be, it could hurt a lot."  
  
As Estev grinned ruefully, the others burst out laughing. Agreeing that they would meet tomorrow to begin a more strategic hunt for the treasures all sensed must be nearby, the boys trudged back across the fields to the city. 


	5. Part Five

Part Five  
  
Esiwmas stared down at the three pleading faces before him. '_No, four,_' he thought aiming a hard look at the newest addition to this herd of mischief. Estev biting his lip as he often did whenever the request he was making was of the utmost importance to him, and Rolfe, stern faced, seemed to scarcely breathe as they awaited the trader's answer. These two combined were capable of creating enough trouble without the addition of the other half of the quartet.  
  
"You can't just go around picking up strays." Esiwmas frowned. "He must have a home."  
  
Rolfe said suddenly, "That's how you got me. You just picked me up. He needs us."  
  
"Not the same thing at all, and you know it, Rolfe." Esiwmas replied, reaching out with a massive hand to tousle the boy's dark hair gently.  
  
"Yes, it is," Rolfe insisted stubbornly. "He's got nobody, just like me. You took me in. Now we," a thumb jerked from himself to Estev," want to take him in."  
  
Grateful for the unexpected support, Estev said earnestly, "You'll never know he's here. Me and Rolfe will do everything."  
  
Esiwmas snorted his disbelief. "Where have I heard that before? Weren't the two of you supposed to help with stable chores after lessons? Where were you then?"  
  
Estev chewed his lip again and glanced at Rolfe. It was his own fault they hadn't gotten back before lunch. Rolfe had warned him they would be in for it if they were late, but he had insisted on going with the other boys. That _nmad _blabber baby, Ferlan, with his honest to gosh Haradrim captain's medallion. He had started all this trouble.  
  
The sight of that shining golden serpent in Ferlan's grubby paw had made Estev almost sick with envy. His father, while not forbidding him to search the Pelennor fields, had made it quite clear that he did not approve of the collecting of battle relics. Especially those of men.  
  
Rolfe shrugged at Estev's look, but refused to comment. It was up to Estev to tell or not. Rolfe had agreed to go along.  
  
"Uhh... well...."  
  
The trader's blue eyes hardened as the boy squirmed. "If your actions are such that you must lie about them, perhaps you need to consider whether they are honorable."  
  
"_Yea, Fæder,"_ said Estev slipping into his native Rohirric. When in the White City, his father encouraged the boys to speak the Common Tongue, but in his misery Estev could not find the words. Not for anything in all of Middle-Earth did he want to disappoint his father, but truly, no one else saw anything wrong with scavenging for relics.  
  
"I will ask you once more, where were you when you had promised to return and assist in the stables?" Esiwmas said sternly.  
  
Head hanging and refusing to meet his father's eyes, Estev replied in a low voice, "We went outside the wall to look for..." The boy's voice trailed off.  
  
Drawing a deep breath, Esiwmas ran his hand through his already disheveled blonde hair. It had been one of those mornings when anything that could go wrong did. Now, he was faced with the hardest task he knew: punishing his son.  
  
"To look for battle relics," finished Esiwmas when the silence lengthened. Glancing out the window to the courtyard, he saw almost the same chaos that had been there when he had first entered with the boys and their disreputable companions. He had no time for long lectures and any road, the boys must come to the understanding for themselves of the appropriateness of dishonoring the dead of any people.  
  
"I will not repeat what I have told you concerning that. However," he said and waited for Estev to raise his head. "You and Rolfe must both receive punishment for failing to report back when you had committed to being here. A man who can not keep his word is one that can never be trusted. You must learn this. Do you both understand me?"  
  
Estev's mumbled, "_Yea, Fæder,"_ and Rolfe's slightly louder, "Yes, sir," earned them a grudging nod.  
  
"Fair enough, you will report to the stable master each noon and evening for the next three days. He will assign you tasks in addition to your regular chores." Clapping each boy on the shoulder and looking deeply into their eyes, Esiwmas exclaimed, "Now, I must try to unscramble the mess that idiotic wine merchant from the fifth circle has made in my courtyard. _Nmad _man, thinks he can show up with five extra crates and load them on the same number of animals."  
  
Estev started to speak then thought better and bit his lip again. Rolfe, after a slight hesitation, said, "Esiwmas? About the dog? Can we keep it?"  
  
Esiwmas paused in the act of pulling open the door and directed another frown at the two animals crouched at the boys' feet. Dog, as always, appeared to be following the conversation closely. Large and of an indiscriminate breed, Dog, according to Rolfe, possessed an intelligence equal to any man. Giving another glance out the window, Esiwmas was willing to concede the fact that Dog was certainly more intelligent than at least one wine merchant in the White City.  
  
The second, smaller but equally furry, lifted his head as Esiwmas focused his attention on him. Sitting up, the black and white animal returned the man's regard steadily. In a move designed to appeal, it waved a white paw and wagged its tail.  
  
Esiwmas snorted and said derisively, "You don't fool me for an instant. You've joined up with those three, I know what kind of creature you are. " Turning back to shake a stern finger at the boys, he continued, "I expect that you will check for anyone missing a dog of his description. Furthermore, I expect that you will all be on your best behavior until we leave for the Mark at the end of the month. There you will have the entire countryside to roam."  
  
Estev and Rolfe were hard put to conceal their glee until Esiwmas was heard roaring in the courtyard. Extra chores from Martham, the stable master, was not as much punishment as Esiwmas supposed. Besides they had gotten what they wanted most.  
  
"What do we call him?" Estev said, kneeling down to scratch the dog behind the ears.  
  
"Can't call him Dog. Already got one of those." Rolfe laughed as Dog turned his head and gave him a slurping lick.  
  
"We'll call him Jesse," stated Estev firmly after a moment's thought.  
  
"Why? What's that mean?" asked Rolfe. Though becoming steadily more fluent in the rolling tongue of his adoptive family, Rolfe was constantly on watch for new words to add to his vocabulary.  
  
"Nothin'," said Estev with a shrug. "I just like the sound of it."  
  
"All right, Jesse, it is."

* * *

_Author's note: As previously mentioned, many of these characters emerged from Role Playing and as such the names are not to canon. However, arguing with them about what to call them resulted in sulking muses. _

_Tolkien's Rohirrim speak a language traceable to Old English. My language skills are limited, but I have tried to translate to Old English in some cases. However, nmad is a made up mild curse that has become part of my oral vocabulary as well as my written._


	6. Part Six

Part Six  
  
The next morning found them once again toiling away under Master Gemthir's sharp eye while another perfect spring day went to waste. Today, however, there would be no chance of a sudden dismissal. Their instructor was far too conscientious in his responsibilities for such an event to occur twice. The only option left was to work as diligently as possible to complete their assignments in the least amount of time. Thus dark head and light bent over their studies with a determination that resulted in a pleased nod from the unusually reddened face of their instructor.  
  
"Well done, gentlemen. You have certainly applied yourselves to your work today."  
  
"Thank you, sir," said Rolfe. Carefully, he rolled the map the boys had been copying and returned it to the master's large cabinet.  
  
After firmly stoppering his bottle of ink, Estev pointed an blue stained finger at the paper before him and traced the narrow line leading across the Ash Plains of Nurn to the tiny dot he had placed beside Lake Nurnen.  
  
"And this is the path my cousins take with their pack trains?"  
  
"So they have reported," Master Gemthir replied. "Tomorrow you will fill in the areas along the Rivers Sirith and Gilrain."  
  
The boy's nail moved down to the Bay of Belfalas. "Where exactly would Linhir be, sir?"  
  
Gemthir's thin finger tapped the spot. "Here. Trail master Liam has been most helpful in confirming the distances along that section of the road."  
  
Estev grinned up at the tutor. "My father says Liam's a good trader and that he can...Rolfe, what was it?"  
  
Brushing his dark hair back from his eyes, Rolfe said, "Esiwmas said that Liam could tell the rumors from the news."  
  
The tutor nodded solemnly. "Yes, that description would fit Trader Liam well. Do you understand what it means?"  
  
His face wrinkled in concentration, Estev said, "What I think he meant was that Liam is good about knowing when people are telling the truth."  
  
"A skill much needed by an honest man in any occupation. One your father possesses as well."  
  
"Thank you, sir." Estev beamed at the compliment to his father.  
  
"You are quite welcome, Estev. Now if you will hand me that map, I will set it here on the table to dry thoroughly and you may be excused. It is nearly midday, and I am certain you are eager to get to your noon meal."  
  
At the mention of food, the boys became aware of the tantalizing aroma coming from the direction of their master's kitchen. Sniffing the air, Rolfe nudged Estev sharply.  
  
"If I might ask, sir, what did you use as bait?" the taller boy said with a grin as Estev stared with sudden understanding at the master's sunburned face.  
  
Running a hand through his thinning hair, the man's dark eyes gleamed with amusement and said, "Grasshoppers proved adequate. Though I do believe I will return another day with the crayfish I suggested yesterday. I caught sight of the most enormous trout..."  
  
"Was he hiding beneath those pilings to the south of the docks?" interrupted Estev.  
  
"Yes, indeed he was," replied the tutor. With the appearance of his housekeeper announcing the readiness of his meal, he waved the boys away saying, "Off with you now. I will see you on the morrow."

* * *

The carnage of war had been cleared as swiftly as possible and mounds for the dead of Gondor and Rohan raised with great ceremony to either side of the causeway leading to the White City's gate, yet the Pelennor farmlands, trampled by the armies of Mordor, continued to bear the scars of war. The foresight of Lord Denethor had seen the folk of the land and their beasts removed to safety in the vales of Tumladen and Lossarnach but nothing was able to save their homes or the land itself. Burnt out husks of homesteads and barns still stood as testimony to the losses of the people of Gondor and wide swaths of bare ground remained where the bodies of the men from the East and South who had fought in company with the orcs had been tossed into the very trenches they had slashed across the land.  
  
The detritus of war remained as well. Hidden beneath the grass which grew up across the once carefully tilled fields, the mangled remains proved dangerous to unwary beasts and farmhands alike; so those, like Ferlan's brother, who fought to reclaim the land spent endless hours clearing the fields. Much of what they found was useless. Yet, amid the shattered helms and spears, the fractured swords and shields, and the rusty remnants of the weapons and armor of the tens of thousands who had died upon this plain, occasionally there was found those things which fall from the hands and pockets of the dead as they are carried to their final resting places: buttons and badges, dice and coins, and the small items that men bear as talismans against fate. Objects for which those who, for whatever their reason, wish to remember the battles paid handsomely.  
  
It was without true thought of the men who had carried those objects into a war from which they never returned that the boys completed the extra chores assigned by the stable master in less than an hour. They raced breathlessly out of the stable to climb once again up the loading ramps and over the outer wall of the city. Stopping on the other side only long enough to remove the sturdy cords from their canine companions, they continued at a trot toward their destination.  
  
"About time, you showed up," Ferlan said peevishly. He pointed to a nearby barrow. "We've already cleared the first section."  
  
Curthan nodded a greeting from a seat amidst the grass. His sling was coiled at his waist though two dead pheasants at his side gave the clue that he had used his time for endeavors other than searching out the broken remains of ironmongery which half filled the barrow. Speaking around a mouthful of bread, he said placidly, "You've had Karston and me hopping since midmorning, Ferlan. They told you they couldn't be here until after noon."  
  
Dog, nose atwitch and tail wagging hopefully, hunched down and began to crawl toward Curthan. Jesse cocked his head and appeared to analyze the distance to be covered; then as if deciding the probability of success was too low, the dog sat on his haunches and whined up at Estev.  
  
"Good dog, Jesse." Estev reached down and patted the dog's head before facing Ferlan. "We'll work just as hard as you did this morning. Harder, cause it's going to be hotter. But we can't get here earlier." He fixed the older boy with a hard stare. "If those terms are not acceptable to you, the bargain's off."  
  
Rolfe grabbed the scruff of Dog's neck firmly as Curthan picked up his catch by the loop of braided grass fastened around the legs of the birds.  
  
Curthan laughed, "Not this time, Dog." He waved a dismissive hand toward Ferlan. "Ignore him. He's just upset 'cause Karston went back at noon, and I told him I'd only stay until you two got here."  
  
"Where's Shaymur?" Rolfe asked in puzzlement.  
  
"He didn't show up," Ferlan said. He rubbed a grimy hand across his forehead. "He shouldn't get a share of what we find if he doesn't show up."  
  
Estev almost nodded, but stopped when Rolfe shook his head and said, "No, the agreement is that we six share what we get equally. If he's not here right now, there's a good reason. There's still lots to do, and Shaymur will do his part."  
  
"That's what I've been telling him all morning." Curthan slung his pheasants over his shoulder. "I've got business to attend to in the City. Hope you have better luck than we did. All those bits and pieces," he waved at the almost filled barrow, "won't make much of a profit after Harlan takes his half."  
  
"That's for sure," said Estev with a frown.  
  
"You all agreed to help me," Ferlan exclaimed anxiously. The thought of his brother's reaction gave his voice a slight whine. "You can't back out now."  
  
"If you're so all fired worried about us not quitting, then you better rethink the way you're talking to us," Estev said and folded his arms across his chest in the way he had seen his father do when delivering a warning to someone.  
  
"I'll be back tomorrow," Curthan said soothingly and laid a heavy arm across Ferlan's shoulders. "It'll get done, don't you fret about that."  
  
Curthan patted Ferlan firmly on the back, then walked away whistling merrily.  
  
Ferlan swatted a tall clump of weeds. "Harlan's not going to be happy if it takes too long."  
  
"It will take as long as it takes. If he wants it done faster, he can always pay someone else a fair wage to do it," Rolfe responded and held a twisted piece of metal out for Estev to examine. "You picked all this up in the section we marked out yesterday?"  
  
"Yes, that's all we found." Pulling the stopper from a water skin, Ferlan took a long swallow.  
  
"Do you know exactly where you found this piece?" Rolfe held up another thin metal plate heavily crusted with mud.  
  
"Over by that ditch, I think. Why? It's junk. Not worth much. Only thing it's good for is to be melted down to make something new."  
  
Privately, Estev agreed with this assessment; but suspecting that Rolfe thought otherwise, he turned the twisted piece over and over in his hands. Just a bit broken off some armor or maybe from a horse's bridle, though it looked rather large. Holding the bit out at an angle, he tried to imagine it on a horse's head. No, it was too large. What else could it have been?  
  
An image from one of Master Gemthir's maps popped into his head. Squinching his eyes tightly, Estev concentrated on recalling every detail from the illustration. This piece was connected to another that went over the ears of ...an oliphaunt.  
  
Opening his eyes wide, he met Rolfe's small grin. Swiftly Estev schooled his features to the blandness appropriate for a trader. There was no need to let Ferlan know exactly what they had, he was certain to babble to Harlan and then the boys might lose the half of the treasures they had been promised. Tossing the piece back into the barrow as if it held no significance whatsoever, Estev accepted the dirt encrusted metal plate and began rubbing at it. A shoulder piece from some armor he was almost positive. Not of the Mark or Gondor, or he would have recognized it sooner. And not of the inferior metal used as armor for the orc troops. This must have belonged to some soldier of the south.  
  
Careful to keep the excitement from his voice, Estev tossed the shoulder plate back into the barrow and faced Ferlan. "Yep, that's about all it's worth, but we might as well clear out the section right beside it than go hopping like a bunch of rabbits all over the field."  
  
From beneath the shaggy strands almost covering his eyes, Ferlan studied them with suspicion. There was never any knowing what Rolfe thought, he was as good as Shaymur at keeping things to himself, but Estev had put away his anger too quickly. Something was up. Stepping to the barrow, Ferlan picked up the metal plate and rubbed it. There was no decoration, no insignia of any kind. Nothing to indicate where it came from or even what it was. Just another piece of junk that needed to be cleared before the fields would be safe enough for the small flock his brother wished to run here. Scowling, he threw it back into the pile with unnecessary force.  
  
"We've got to be back early for evening chores, to make up for yesterday," Rolfe said and headed for the ditch Ferlan had indicated earlier. "We should get started. Come on, Dog."  
  
Dog bounced happily at Rolfe's side, and Jesse, after giving Ferlan a puzzled look followed at Estev's heels. As they reached the shallow ditch, the boys spread out an arm's length apart and began moving through the grass. For a time, the dogs stayed close, thoroughly sniffing each bit of debris the boys pried from the ground. But the teasing chittering of the ground squirrels convinced Dog that today was the day he would catch one, and he slurped Rolfe's face in farewell and bounded off across the fields. Jesse, sensing the impossibility of such an event, nevertheless gave Dog an encouraging woof and, after receiving permission from Estev, ran after him.  
  
After working their way along the ditch to the low stone wall marking this edge of the field the three boys moved to new tracks and headed back toward the city. Estev and Rolfe in the lead, heads lowered, stooped over repeatedly to pry out anything that might be dangerous to livestock and tossed it behind them. Estev glanced over his shoulder to see Ferlan trundling the barrow over the uneven ground to collect what they had unearthed. Quietly, he said to Rolfe, "You think we're on the right track?"  
  
Straightening and tossing the battered remains of iron vambraces once worn by an orc archer in Ferlan's direction, Rolfe nodded. "The problem," he said in a low voice, "is figuring out exactly where to look. We can't dig up the entire field. Harlan's not interested in relics, though he's more than willing to take his share. All he wants is the broken bits removed so he can earn his grazing rights."  
  
"You still think there's something out here, don't you? Even if they didn't find anything this morning." Estev stared out over the uneven surface of the Pelennor.  
  
They were a fair distance from the gate to the city, but he could still make out the rounded shapes of the tall mounds where those who had fallen in battle lay. His older cousins, Sewold and Beregond, lay there. He wished he knew exactly how and where they had died. Everyone told the story of how Lady Èowyn and the halfling, Meriadoc, had killed the Lord of the Nazgul. That spot was plainly marked by the bare ground left from the burning of the Nazgul's fell beast and a stone honoring Theoden King's horse, Snowmane. He had often heard the minstrels sing "The Lay of the Mounds of Mundberg" listing the lords and nobles who had died, but no one ever told the stories of the common Riders.  
  
Save to say that those who fought had done so with honor, his father would not speak of the battles. Neither would Curthan's father, nor Karston's uncles. Harlan, to Ferlan's great disgust, had been happy to be sent to Tumladen to protect the herds. Shaymur's grandsire would sometimes tell them of the fighting within the first circle of the city, but the old man knew nothing of what had occurred outside the walls.  
  
"Yes, we're close to something," Rolfe answered. In his hands, he held the splintered end of a spear shaft and his head was tilted as if listening to a distant sound.  
  
Estev shivered at the thought of standing on the very spot where someone had died.  
  
He knew well the stories of the Stone of Erech and the path under the mountains. King Elessar had taken that route and called forth the Dead to fulfill their oaths. Did others of the dead yet linger, those who had not fought with honor, who had served the Dark Lord?  
  
The rattle of the barrow broke their reverie. Rolfe gave a rueful grin and lobbed the spear shaft to land with a dull thump in the barrow's path, eliciting a startled, "Watch what you're doing!" from Ferlan.  
  
Estev shook himself, then kicked at a tuft of grass. What looked like the handle of a knife appeared beneath the green. He dropped down and gently, to avoid the jagged remains of the blade, wiped away the dirt. What was revealed was not merely a shard, but a double edged dagger. Strangely, no rust speckled the blade, but more important to the boy was the coiled serpent etched along its length. A Southron blade! 


	7. Part Seven

Part Seven  
  
Wide eyed, Estev carefully balanced the dagger on his palms and tipped it to catch the afternoon sun. The serpent writhed menacingly, startling the boy into almost dropping the blade. Recovering, he told himself that it was merely a trick of the light and excellent craftsmanship. The knife was certainly an example of that. In spite of long exposure to the elements, the handle of deep dark wood bound with rings of copper and iron was smooth to the touch. As Estev rubbed his fingers along the guard, a faint hissing filled his ears.  
  
"What did you find?" demanded Ferlan.  
  
A strange desire to deny the other boy even a look at his discovery overwhelmed Estev. Closing his fist around the handle, he said, "You can't have it. I found it."  
  
"Found what? Let me see it," Ferlan demanded.  
  
"No. You can't touch it." Estev scrambled to his feet and put the knife behind his back.  
  
"You little sneak." Face flushed and fists clenched, the farm lad sneered, "All your talk of agreements and bargains and you're trying to steal the first thing we find."  
  
Estev blinked at the accusation and said, "I'm not stealing anything."  
  
"Then hand it over and let me see." Ferlan grabbed the sturdy Rohirrim lad's arm and attempted to pull it forward.  
  
Jerking free, Estev brought the knife from behind his back. Ferlan jumped back with an angry cry as the blade slashed through the air, and Estev shouted, "Leave me alone!"  
  
Alerted by the noise, Rolfe hurried back. Grasping Ferlan by the forearm before the thin boy could attempt to snatch at the knife, he said, "Stop it, both of you. Estev, put it down."  
  
Panting heavily, Estev ignored his foster brother and glared at Ferlan. "He can't have it."  
  
Placing himself in front of Ferlan, Rolfe said softly, "No one's trying to steal it, Estev."  
  
From across the fields came the excited barking of the dogs. Estev blinked, drew a deep breath and lowered the knife.  
  
Giving no sign of his relief, Rolfe held out his free hand palm up. "We just want to see it."  
  
Shaking his head, Estev rubbed at his forehead. "What? What did you say, Rolfe?" He stared down at the dagger clutched in his fist in confusion.  
  
"No one's trying to steal it," Rolfe repeated gently. His hand squeezed Ferlan's arm tightly in silent command not to speak.  
  
"Of course not," Estev replied, holding out the blade toward Ferlan. "It's share and share alike, isn't it?"  
  
After checking with Rolfe for permission, the farm lad accepted the knife then stepped warily away from Estev.  
  
The younger boy rolled his eyes and exclaimed, "What's wrong with you two?"  
  
"Nothing's the matter with us." Rolfe studied the boy's pale face carefully. "Why did you say that?"  
  
"Say what?" Estev demanded.  
  
"That you found it and it was yours." Ferlan hissed. "You won't get away with that, you know?"  
  
"I never said any such thing." Estev's hands balled into fists. "You take that back."  
  
Once again, Rolfe stood between them. Worry filled his brown eyes as he insisted, "But you did."  
  
"I never! I'd never break a bargain like that."  
  
"I know that," Rolfe replied. "But, Estev, you did say it. Don't you remember?"  
  
"No." Estev glared at the other two boys, righteous indignation written across his face. How could they possible accuse him of going back on a bargain? Why, his father would disown him if he ever did such a thing. Raising his chin, he said in a low voice, "You must of heard me wrong."  
  
Seeing that it was useless to argue, Rolfe looked to Ferlan, who shrugged his shoulders. Uncertainly, Rolfe nodded his head. "Yes, we must have."  
  
When Estev gave a curt nod of acceptance of this faint apology, Rolfe motioned for Ferlan to hold the knife out for all to see.  
  
Nearly a span in length the blade's edges rippled in a design unfamiliar to the boys. The deeply etched serpent imparted a coppery sheen to the steel so that it gleamed dully.  
  
"It's sure to be worth a lot," Ferlan said with a soft whistle. "No one finds things like this any more."  
  
"No, which will make it easier," responded Rolfe cryptically.  
  
Estev reached out to trace the runes surrounding the serpent. "I wonder what it says."  
  
"What does it matter?" asked Ferlan impatiently. "What did you mean make it easier? Make what easier?"  
  
"Hiding it," replied Rolfe.  
  
"From who" Ferlan exclaimed indignantly. "You said Shaymur got a share no matter what; and Karston and Curthan have already worked longer than you did."  
  
"From Harlan, you fool," sneered Estev. "If he sees this, we won't get anything. That's what you're thinking, isn't it, Rolfe?'  
  
"Yes. We've got to have somewhere to keep all the best stuff until we're ready to sell it. We'll show Harlan all the bits and pieces." Rolfe pointed at the almost filled barrow. "That should keep your brother satisfied."  
  
Ferlan looked dubious. "Where are you plan on hiding it? I don't have anywhere that doesn't get searched regularly."  
  
"I suppose we could just leave it out here. Hide it somewhere and check it everyday." Rolfe replied slowly.  
  
"No!" exclaimed Estev and Ferlan together.  
  
"Not a good idea. Harlan's bound to come out here on his own at least once," Ferlan countered.  
  
"Right, it's not safe out here," Estev extolled solemnly.  
  
Rolfe forced a laugh. "It's been safe enough for three years, surely it can stay for the week or so it will take us to clear the rest of the field and do a good search of this area."  
  
"We found it, didn't we?" insisted Estev. "Someone else might too."  
  
Ferlan nodded his agreement. Rolfe was at a loss. "Where do you suggest we hide it then?" he asked with asperity.  
  
"Hide what?"  
  
The new voice startled the three debaters and they whirled about to find Shaymur, his cap tipped back at a jaunty angle, grinning at their surprise. "Sorry I'm late. A group of merchants from Dol Amroth arrived just as I was about to leave and wanted to be taken all the way up to the sixth circle." He jingled several coins in his pocket. "Couldn't turn them down. They might have gone wandering about for days." With a nod toward the barrow, he added, "You made a good start I see.  
  
"That's nothing," Ferlan said eagerly, dismissing the pile of broken bits and pieces. "Here, look at this." He thrust the knife into the older boy's hands. "Estev just found it. I told you there was something good out here."  
  
Shaymur whistled softly as he examined the blade in his hand. "Aye, this is worth something."  
  
"Rolfe thinks we should hide it." Ferlan went on. "He's afraid my brother will try to take it. He's probably right about that."  
  
Estev interrupted, "Or worse, he'll hire someone else to clear out the field. And I'll bet you there's even more out here. Remember those medallions. We don't want anyone else to come around here."  
  
"No, we don't. Rolfe, what do you think?" Shaymur asked. "We could show Harlan stuff like what's in the barrow everyday. But this is different."  
  
Rolfe turned in a slow circle, eyes searching for something that could be used as a hiding place for whatever they found. Seeing the dogs in the distance, he considered a squirrel's hole. No, it would be their luck the squirrels would push it out of their burrow. Under a stone? Too much chance of forgetting which stone unless you marked it, and if you marked it then you merely announced its importance for all to see.  
  
"I still say it needs to be hidden," Rolfe said stubbornly. "If you don't want to hide it out here, couldn't we keep what we find at someone's house?"  
  
"And how do we know that person won't suddenly decide it all belongs to him and run off with it?" Ferlan exclaimed, with a glare toward Estev.  
  
Estev flushed and balled up his fists. "I never said it was mine."  
  
"Sounded like it to me," taunted Ferlan.  
  
Shaymur and Rolfe sprang between the smaller boys and pushed them apart.  
  
"What's this all about?" asked the freckle-faced leader after staring Ferlan into muttering obedience.  
  
Rolfe eyed Estev, who had turned away from the others and was pacing back and forth giving Ferlan evil glances over his shoulder.  
  
"It's hard to explain," said Rolfe. His loyalty was first of all to Estev.  
  
"Try," ordered Shaymur.  
  
Slowly, with many repetitions that he still was not certain that he had heard Estev correctly, Rolfe related the tale of the finding of the knife. As he finished, the other boy looked down at the knife in his hand. When he had first held it, he could have sworn the snake's eyes were glowing. But now, it looked just like any other knife.  
  
"Strange. Estev's not the type to try to take something."  
  
"I know. That's why I think we must have misheard him."  
  
"Maybe," said Shaymur. "Is there any one that we could leave things with that could be trusted? Someone not connected to any of us?"  
  
Rolfe shook his head. "Almost everyone I know is related to Estev's family somehow. Don't you know anyone? One of the guards at the gate?"  
  
"Maybe, but I don't like getting anyone else involved. Hard enough to keep secrets with six people."  
  
"You can't have it both ways, Shaymur. We leave it with one of us or we leave it with someone else. Either way that person has to be told what it is."  
  
"All right then. We can't hide it anywhere close to Harlan. And there's no place at my grandsire's that's safe from my brothers and sisters and cousins. Ferlan's gonna holler clear to the Tower, but it'll have to go home with you two."  
  
Rolfe grimaced and agreed, if given the chance he would have said he did not want the weapon anywhere near Estev. He pointed at the sun, well on its way to the peaks of the mountains. "We need to get back. Or Estev and I won't be allowed to come out tomorrow. We've still got extra chores to do to make up for being late yesterday."  
  
Nodding his understanding, Shaymur said loudly, "I think you made a good start today. Curthan and Karston will be back in the morning, and I'll be certain to be here at noon. Estev and Rolfe, you'll take the afternoons?"  
  
"I suppose I have to be here all day even though I get the same share all of you do working only half the time," Ferlan remarked sourly.  
  
"Any time you want us to leave, you let us know, Ferlan," said Rolfe quietly, having grasped a lunging Estev by the collar.  
  
"No one's leaving, ...yet," stated Shaymur firmly. Holding up the knife, he looked to Ferlan. "Rolfe's going to take this to keep it safe. Can you agree to that?"  
  
The smaller boy nervously ran a hand through his shaggy hair. It was plain enough that Shaymur was issuing an ultimatum. Either he could trust the other boys would be fair and keep to their words, or he would be left to cope with his brother alone.  
  
Finally, Ferlan's shoulders slumped. "Who's going to help me get this barrow back? Harlan's going to expect to see we done something."  
  
"We'll help you get it home." Shaymur pulled a ragged piece of cloth from his pocket to wrap the dagger in before handing it to Rolfe.  
  
Estev chewed his lower lip when Rolfe accepted the bundle and tucked it inside his shirt. He wanted to ask if anyone else had seen the serpent move, but could think of no way to pose such a question. Rubbing his fingers together, he remembered the cool feel of the blade as it had rested on his palms.  
  
"You two take the barrow," said Rolfe. "We've got to hurry before we get in trouble again for being late."  
  
Ferlan flushed, but unable to think of anything to say he picked up the handles of the barrow and began bumping across the fields toward his home. After helping Rolfe move the stakes marking the areas already cleared, Shaymur hurried to catch up with the farm lad. Rolfe and Estev whistled for the dogs, then trotted toward the ramps that would allow them to climb over the outer wall into the first circle. 


	8. Part Eight

Part Eight:  
  
The everyday routine of evening chores in the stable yard was followed by dinner with Esiwmas in the small house he had acquired in the fourth circle. The boys, especially Estev, found the house tucked against the north face of Mount Mindolluin to be rather cold and cramped in comparison to the open rooms of the holding in Rohan. They did enjoy climbing the rocky path from the roof to the outer wall, but the narrow courtyard with its carefully tended patch of greenery would never be an adequate substitute for the wide meadows and open fields of the Deeping Stream.  
  
The food however was certainly equal if not better.  
  
A distant cousin, Sarantha, had come south to tend the household for Esiwmas. The ancient woman rose at dawn each day to haggle with every merchant from the fishmonger to the broom maker, proving that trading instincts ran through many branches of the family. But even more than the bargaining, the variety of foodstuffs available in the markets of Minas Tirith delighted her. The results were meals that, if perhaps not equal to hobbit cuisine, managed to appease even the extreme hunger of young boys.  
  
Esiwmas harrumphed as Rolfe slipped a meat pastry beneath the table. The boy grinned an apology that proved completely insincere when a small slice of roast pork disappeared in the same manner.  
  
"Father," said Estev slowly. He wanted very much to tell about the magnificence of the relic he had found, but hesitated because he knew his father disapproved of disturbing the peace of the dead. Finally, deciding that as he had been given leave to make up his own mind and always told that having engaged in a course of action a man should be proud enough to tell of his deeds, he blurted out, "We found something today. Something really important."  
  
His father speared a bit of boiled potato and frowned momentarily, then nodded and said, "You did?"  
  
While not the enthusiastic response of which Estev dreamed, it was better than a refusal to listen. Bobbing his head eagerly, the boy replied, "Yes, and I found it. We were just walking along picking up all these broken pieces of armor and stuff, and tossing them in the barrow. Rolfe kept throwing them so they landed almost on Ferlan's toes and made him jump every time. I kicked at some grass and saw this handle. So I got down to dig out the pieces. That's all we'd found so far, so I thought that's what it would be. But it wasn't, it was a whole knife! It's even got a serpent on it. Like the one on the banners the Southerners carry. You know?"  
  
"Yes," replied Esiwmas wryly. He was quite familiar with the insignia of the Haradrim. It often haunted his dreams; but in the face of his son's enthusiasm, he would not say as much. "A whole blade. That is a unique find."  
  
"I think one piece we found was part of a harness for a mûmak," Rolfe slipped another piece of pork to the canine at his feet before adding, "It looked a lot like one of the pictures in Master Gemthir's books."  
  
"No," countered Estev. "It was on that map we were copying today. Down in the corner."  
  
Esiwmas covered a grin with a large hand as the boys argued good naturedly. For all his complaining about wasted time, it appeared that Estev had managed to find some use for his lessons after all. If only the knowledge was to be put to a more honorable usage. This obsession the boy had with seeking out that which would be better left buried and lost was disturbing. But then, the trader supposed, his own youthful passions had disturbed his family no less.  
  
The appearance of a bread pudding bursting with raisins brought the boys' debate and any discussion of their discovery to an abrupt end. Tolerant as she was about most masculine behaviors, Sarantha would not allow any talk of battles or armaments at the table, sternly insisting that the topic interfered with her digestion.  
  
Not until the boys bid Esiwmas 'good night' and climbed the stairs to their small corner room did Estev speak again of the blade, though it had gleamed in his thoughts throughout the evening.  
  
"Where did you put it?" he asked toeing off his boots and kicking them under the bed.  
  
Voice muffled by the shirt half over his head, Rolfe answered, "It's in the chest. Why?"  
  
"I just wondered."  
  
Estev reached across his bed and pushed open the narrow window. Far below lay the shadowed fields of the Pelennor. Once, the fires of the armies of Mordor had blazed there; now, only the scattered lights of farmsteads glowed in the night.  
  
Suddenly, he wondered what his mother was doing back in the Mark. Was she sitting in her chair with a basket of sewing or was she singing his little brother to sleep? Estev jerked off his shirt and tossed it aside telling himself he was far too old to be such a baby. A furry head nudged his hand, and he knelt down to bury his face in Jesse's neck. When a warm wet tongue licked his ear, he laughed and pushed the dog's head aside.  
  
"Stop that, I already washed behind my ears."  
  
Jesse wiggled happily and licked his nose.  
  
"And my nose too."  
  
Scratching behind the dog's ears, Estev sat on the cool stone floor and counted the days until they would leave for home. There was a holiday, Tuilérë, set for the end of this month, and he knew his father planned to return to the Mark shortly after that to spend most of the summer at home. Esdav and Rolfe would be the ones to accompany him back to the White City in the fall.  
  
"We've only got two weeks. You think we can finish?"  
  
Already under his blanket, Rolfe rolled onto his side and stretched one arm over the edge of his bed and gave Dog a pat. As the dog licked his dangling fingers, he studied Estev with solemn brown eyes.  
  
"Clearing the rubbish won't take that long."  
  
"No," Estev responded slowly. "But ..."  
  
"Even if we have to dig a bit." Rolfe yawned. "Tell you what, we'll go down to the stables before breakfast tomorrow and get Martham to give us our chores then. That way we can go straight to the fields after Master Gemthir's lessons."  
  
Nodding eagerly, Estev said, "If we can catch Sarantha before she goes to the market, she'll fix us up some food." He rubbed soft ears fondly. "Take Ferlan a treat to make up for the lunch he gave Jesse."  
  
"Good idea. Now, put out the light and let's get some sleep. Dog will wake us up, won't you, boy?"  
  
A deep throated woof was the animal's reply as Estev stood and blew out the small lamp. Climbing into bed, the boy curled on his side to gaze at the slit of black sky dotted with stars.  
  
"Rolfe..."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Do you think there's anything else out there?"  
  
"If there is, we'll find it." Rolfe pulled the blankets over his head and tucked his hand beneath his pillow. "Tomorrow."  
  
"Tomorrow," Estev repeated.  
  
From the moment, he had seen that golden medallion gleaming in Ferlan's palm he had wanted to find something important. But now that he had, it didn't seem enough. The knife was not really his. Share and share alike, that is what they had agreed on. But why shouldn't he get to keep it? Why shouldn't he be the one to carry it? After all, he had found it.  
  
"A man who can not keep his word is one who can never be trusted."  
  
Estev's eyes sprang open and he expected to see the tall form of his father silhouetted beside the bed. But no, it was only his father's words resounding in his mind. Of course, he would never keep the blade for himself. He could be trusted to keep his word. Pulling his blankets tighter, the boy assured himself that it was just a wild thought that would never become reality. He would never do such a thing.  
  
Jesse whimpered softly. It was dark, the time for sleep. His boy had curled beneath the coverings the two legs used instead of fur, but he did not sleep. Instead he lay with open eyes staring at the darkness. Many days had gone by since Jesse had a boy, but he had not forgotten what to do. Cautiously, he crept onto the bed and lay his head on Estev's chest.  
  
A long moment passed, then the boy relaxed beneath the weight. Slowly his fingers moved up to run gently down the furry back.  
  
"Good dog, Jesse, good dog." 


	9. Part Nine

Top of Form 1 Bottom of Form 1   
  
Part Nine:  
  
Dog lifted his head and yawned, shaking until his ears flopped. The grey light of dawn was seeping into the room. Far too early to be up and about; but his boy had said to wake him, so he would. Briefly he wondered if that included waking the other one as well. No, that one would need to sleep for he had been awake during the night; standing over the wooden box at the end of the bed. There was nothing in the box that Dog thought worth leaving a warm bed to retrieve, and the boy must have decided the same for he had lowered the lid gently without removing anything. When he saw Dog sitting up staring at him curiously, the boy had whispered an admonition to 'lie down.' Dog had thought that strange, for the boy had been the one to get up first; but then, the two legs were often contradictory.  
  
The early cooing of a dove sounded from the window and Dog hurried to his job. It would never do for his boy to think a bird could take his place. Setting his front paws on the bed, he nudged the blanketed form.  
  
"Huh?" was the sleepy response.  
  
Dog licked at an exposed ear. A hand batted him away and pulled the blanket up so that only a wild mop of dark hair was visible.  
  
Taking the blanket gently between his teeth, Dog began to back away. The cloth resisted. Dog released the covering for an instant, then regained it and twisted his head quickly.  
  
"Hey, no fair," Rolfe exclaimed as the blanket slithered to the floor.  
  
His tail wagging with satisfaction, Dog grinned at his boy and woofed quietly.  
  
"All right, I'm up." Swinging his legs around and sitting up, Rolfe rubbed his face briskly. "Estev, wake up!"  
  
"What?" The other boy jerked up and looked about wildly.  
  
Rolfe tossed his pillow at Estev who caught it one handed and stacked it atop his own. After turning bleary eyes to the window, the Rohirrim lad moaned, "No, I can't do it." Then slumped back onto the bed.  
  
"Oh no, you don't." Rolfe rose and poured water from a tin ewer into the basin atop a narrow washstand. He splashed his own face, then dipped a cloth into the water. "Get up. You're the one who wants to dig for relics."  
  
"No, I don't. I just want to sl..." Estev's last word ended with a splat as the wet cloth landed on his face. Spluttering, he whipped the cloth back toward Rolfe only to have Dog jump up and catch it before it found its target.  
  
Rolfe laughed as Dog bounded onto the other boy's bed and stood with the dripping cloth trailing from his mouth.  
  
Jesse, who had watched quietly until now, could not let this infringement upon his place go unchallenged and jumped upon the bed as well. Soon, all three landed on the floor with a thump. Estev rubbed his elbow and pushed Dog off his stomach.  
  
"Father's right, you are a herd of mischief."  
  
"You were included in that herd," Rolfe retorted and pulled a comb through his disheveled hair. "Get dressed. I'll run down to the kitchen and catch Sarantha to ask for some food." Waving an arm at the tangled bed linens and discarded clothing scattered across the floor, he added, "Be a good idea to straighten up in here and stay on her good side."  
  
"Get some of that apple bread she baked yesterday." Estev stumbled on one of the boots he had discarded the night before and grimaced. "And some pickles. Curthan likes those."  
  
"I'll get a banquet fit for King Elessar himself," Rolfe assured his foster brother. "I'll take the dogs with me and let them into the courtyard for a bit. Hurry down."  
  
Warning the dogs to silence, Rolfe held open the door. Dog slipped out and vanished down the dark stairwell. Jesse paused to look back uncertainly and whine. Should his boy be left alone?  
  
"It's all right, Jesse," Rolfe said patting the dog reassuringly. "He'll be along."  
  
When his master seconded the words, Jesse reluctantly followed Rolfe. As the door clicked shut, Estev grabbed a shirt from the floor to turn right side out and pull over his head. Socks were easily found, though one boot had managed to crawl all the way against the wall. Ignoring the comb, the boy sloshed more water into the basin, ducked his head to splash his neck and ears and ran a damp hand through his blond hair in a vain attempt to make it lie flat.  
  
Gathering up an armload of clothing, Estev yanked up the lid of the chest. At the sight of the cloth wrapped blade, he froze and allowed the clothes to slide to his feet. Without thinking he reached down to lift out the knife. The weight of it felt familiar to his hands though he had only held it for a brief time the day before. Did the serpent writhe upon the blade with no eyes to see it, or did it await an audience? His fingers itched to reveal the shining metal to the morning light, but a sudden whistle outside the window recalled him to his duties.  
  
Setting the knife on the washstand, he tossed clothing into the chest and slammed the lid. With more care than he had taken with his own appearance, Estev spread the bed coverings smoothly. The boys had long ago learned Sarantha's foremost criteria for a clean room was a well made bed and that it was far easier to take the few moments to do the task properly than it was to endure her ranting.  
  
Satisfied that he had done all that was necessary to avoid adult censure, Estev pulled on a stained tunic and buckled a braided horsehair belt about his middle. Chewing thoughtfully on his lip, he picked up the cloth bound knife and tucked it inside his shirt where it rested against the bare skin of his stomach. If anyone asked he would say he had brought it to show Curthan and Karston.

* * *

As a playful breeze set the grass to shimmering, Karston varied the melody flowing from his palm sized recorder to a bouncy tune that caused the other boys' toes to begin tapping. When Curthan jumped up and started a jig, the baker boy watched with amused eyes and increased the tempo  
  
Curthan tipped his head in acknowledgement of the challenge. Tall for his nearly twelve years and sturdily built, he was nevertheless light footed and matched the rhythm of the music with ease. Faster and faster, they went, musician and dancer, until they echoed the very music of life itself: the wind and the sun and the dancing grass. With a trilling flourish, Karston brought the song to an end just as the guard's son threw himself on the ground panting.  
  
Karston ducked his head shyly and tucked his recorder into a pocket as his small audience clapped, cheered and barked enthusiastically.  
  
"That was marvelous, Karston," Shaymur exclaimed and thumped him soundly on the back.  
  
"What about me?" panted the red-faced Curthan accepting a water skin from Rolfe.  
  
"Good enough to become a dancing master for some noble family," answered Rolfe with a grin.  
  
As the other boys hooted with laughter, Curthan swept Rolfe's legs out from under him and wrestled him to the ground. "If I do, you shall be my assistant," Curthan said when he had secured a hold on Rolfe.  
  
"Never," proclaimed Rolfe through clenched teeth. He twisted in a vain attempt to free himself. Curthan was not only heavier with a longer reach, he had the advantage of a being trained by his father, a Guard of the Citadel.  
  
"Careful there," Curthan responded mildly. "You'll hurt yourself."  
  
"Let me go, you big oaf," Rolfe exclaimed, "and show me how you did it."  
  
Curthan grinned and released him. Bouncing to his feet, he said, "Watch carefully. Ferlan, come here."  
  
With a sigh, the farm lad brushed his hair from his eyes. "Why is it always me? Use Estev."  
  
"So that you'll learn how to do it," Curthan said patiently. "Rolfe, you and Karston pair up. Estev and Shaymur, too."  
  
Karston shook his head. "Not me. I've got to get back for the afternoon baking. Much thanks for the food. Sarantha's chicken is better than anything my aunt ever makes."  
  
"That's not saying much. I cook better than your aunt," replied Estev with a grin.  
  
"True," responded the boy mournfully. He and his father had lived with his uncle's family since his mother's death several years ago. His aunt was kindness itself, but she seldom managed to prepare a meal without something being burnt beyond recognition. "I didn't mean it that way though. It was good. You will tell her so?"  
  
"Aye."  
  
Since Karston's departure left an uneven number, Shaymur paired up with Rolfe leaving Estev sitting alone while the others practiced. After a few minutes of watching Curthan demonstrate the toss and hold, his attention wandered to the barrow half filled with the oddments unearthed during the morning. Along with the usual assortment of broken spear shafts, leather straps with missing buckles and rust eaten bits of armor, they had found another medallion. This one with the serpent curled to the left. After careful comparison with the captain's badge that Ferlan kept inside his shoe, the boys had determined that both medals bore the same Haradric rune to the right of the serpent's head.  
  
Pleased with their find, the other boys had been tolerate of Rolfe's statement that he had forgotten to bring the knife because of getting up so early and rushing to get to the fields with lunch before Karston and Curthan left. Placing his hand over the lump hidden beneath the double layer of leather tunic and shirt, Estev glanced guiltily up at the wrestlers. He had missed his chance to tell them he had brought the knife with him, now it must remain hidden.  
  
Slowly, he stood and went to rummage in the barrow, picking up an item and holding it up in an attempt to determine its former purpose. Pulling free a moldy leather strap, Estev could feel the indentations of some insignia. He rubbed the leather against his leg and held the strap up and tilted it. The WhiteTree of Gondor. This was from the equipage of some soldier of the City.  
  
"Estev, come on. It's your turn." Ferlan's breathless voice pleaded.  
  
Lifting a hand in acknowledgement, Estev returned to the boys carrying the strap.  
  
"What did you find?" Shaymur asked, wiping sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. He and Rolfe were almost evenly matched in ability if not in size and age.  
  
Estev did not answer but simply thrust the leather into Curthan's hands.  
  
"What?" Curthan asked. The grin slid from his face as he studied the strap carefully. He rubbed it with the sleeve of his shirt and the embossed image became clearer. Seven stars stood above the tree. Not just a soldier of the City, but a member of the Tower Guard.  
  
The warmth disappeared from the sun, and the ghostly touch of a mournful wind sent a shiver through the grass. Shaymur reached out to put a hand on Curthan's shoulder while Ferlan shifted anxiously.  
  
"It's not from my brother's company," Curthan said in a hollow voice, "but I'd like to take it back to my father anyway." His fingers tightened imperceptibly on the leather. "He might be able to tell us more about it."  
  
"Of course," said Shaymur, squeezing his friend's shoulder.  
  
In the distance the noon bell tolled. The boys looked automatically toward the black wall of the Othram, then upwards to where a flight of doves circled the White Tower. The king's banner, stark against the pale blue of the spring sky, flew from the pinnacle.  
  
With a solemn nod, as if answering an unspoken question, Curthan straightened, gave Shaymur a wink and punched Ferlan on the arm saying, "Don't look so worried, little man."  
  
"Ow! That hurt, and who are you calling little?" exclaimed Ferlan.  
  
"You, little man." Curthan patted the smaller boy on the head. "Don't get into any trouble this afternoon. Rolfe, don't forget to bring that knife tomorrow."  
  
"I won't," Rolfe promised. "Come by this evening and see it if you want. Bring Karston, too."  
  
Estev clenched his fist to keep from feeling for the knife and said, "Sarantha will open a new crock of pickles just for you."  
  
"Tempting thought," Curthan laughed. "I just might. Where's my cap? Oh, thank you, Dog." Accepting the cap and rubbing the dog's head, he waved farewell and strode away rapidly.  
  
Briskly, Shaymur said, "Our turn now. Let's make sure we clear as much as they did this morning. We can have the whole field done in less than a week. Ferlan, you pack up what's left from lunch while Estev pushes the barrow for a while. Then you can help him load. Rolfe and I will be in the lead. We'll trade off in an hour or so."  
  
Their tasks set, the boys spread out and moved across the field. At first, their minds were filled with what had happened in this place and the men who would never again walk amongst them. But such thoughts have little hold on the young, thus a short time later when Jesse startled a rabbit and gave chase across the green fields, the boys paused in their labors to cheer and shout encouragement. Returning to their work, they began to sing. A silly song it was, of a goose that wanted to fly to the moon. Their feet and hands moved in time with the tune as back and forth across the field they went, clearing the rubbish of war from the land and the sadness from their hearts. 


	10. Part Ten

Part Ten:  
  
Sprawled upon the tiled floor of what the Gondorians called a side room, Estev narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the left. Then back to the right to look intently at Jesse laying curled asleep upon a small rug before a large cushioned chair.  
  
"You've got his ears all wrong," he said sliding the drawing back across the floor.  
  
"Uh-huh," replied Rolfe patiently. He studied the sketch, then made a short stroke with his charcoal to indicate the muscles of the animal's forelegs.  
  
Running a hand through his hair, Estev rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Tapping his fingers on his chest in time to the rain pattering on the windows, he asked, "I wonder when Father will be back. Sarantha said after dinner. That was an hour ago."  
  
"Hold still," Rolfe said.  
  
Estev sighed. He hated when Rolfe drew a picture of him. It always ended up with big ears or odd sized eyes, and being told 'sit still' made his nose itch. Carefully he slid the hand on the side away from Rolfe toward his face.  
  
"Be still."  
  
"I can't," Estev groaned.  
  
"You just think you can't."  
  
"I told you before to stop that."  
  
"Stop what?"  
  
"Being bossy."  
  
"I'm not being bossy," insisted Rolfe.  
  
"Yes, you are."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
Estev smirked, then repeated, "Yes, you are."  
  
"All right, I am. Now, sit still."  
  
Rolfe's mouth twisted up in the corner as he concentrated, and Estev rolled his eyes and tried not to think about his nose. First, he counted to one hundred in Rohirric, then in the Common Tongue. For good measure he tried it in Elvish but got only as far as thirty-six because he couldn't remember if he should count it as six sixes or three twelves. Given that it was Elvish, it was probably both.  
  
"Are you done yet?"  
  
"No."  
  
Sighing, Estev flexed the muscles of his back. A stone floor got harder the longer you lay on it, but at least it was clean. Or it better be. He had already taken one bath today because Sarantha had refused to allow either boy to sit at the table until they bathed. She'd even checked their necks and ears afterward. Estev snorted. There was nothing wrong with a little dirt. Besides with this rain, he was bound to get all muddy tomorrow.  
  
The rain, which had been falling in spits and spurts since late afternoon, might prove to be a blessing. It had driven them from the fields today, but perhaps it would reveal something of importance on the morrow. Little of worth had been found for the past three days though all six boys had worked steadily. Another medallion had been unearthed, several well preserved spear and arrow points, and a tarnished silver chain, but nothing approaching the magnificence of the knife. At the thought of the blade, Estev grimaced.  
  
"Stop that," chided Rolfe, and Estev muttered, "Sorry."  
  
The nmad knife. Almost, he wished he'd never found the thing. Careful to let only his eyeballs move, he flicked a glance at his foster brother. What would Rolfe say if it was discovered that every morning he took the blade from the chest where it was hidden and tucked it inside his shirt to carry with him all day long?  
  
During the evenings after he had returned the knife to its hiding place, he often found his hand seeking for the solid reassurance of the lump beneath his shirt. He could not understand what was going on; but whenever he unwrapped the blade and held it up to see, the serpent writhed in the light. Once or twice he had even thought he heard it hissing.  
  
No one else seemed to see or hear anything. When Karston and Curthan had been shown the blade, they commented on its rippled edges and the twisted copper and iron wires placed along the handle, but never upon the coiling and uncoiling serpent. It had to be just his imagination. And why did he find it so difficult to leave the knife in the chest? The others would think he was trying to take it for himself if they found out he carried it with him each day.  
  
'And why shouldn't I? I found it. It should be mine.'  
  
"No!"  
  
Estev's exclamation brought both dogs to their feet searching for the cause of alarm. Seeing nothing threatening their masters, they whined inquiringly and nudged the boys with their noses.  
  
"No what?" Rolfe set aside his sketching to rub Dog's ears soothingly. "If you didn't want your picture done, all you had to do was say so."  
  
"It's not that," Estev stammered, his fingers clutched at Jesse until the dog whimpered. Apologizing to the animal, he clasped his hands together and frowned.  
  
"Then what?"  
  
"Nothing"  
  
Rolfe's mouth tightened with annoyance. 'Nothing' had been Estev's response ever since he had found that knife, and trying to force him to talk only caused him to storm away. But what else could be done but attempt to find out what was bothering his friend?  
  
"If it's the rain, it won't last the night."  
  
"It's not the rain," mumbled Estev picking at his thumbnail.  
  
"What then? Two more days and we'll be finished clearing that field. Harlan will have his grazing rights."  
  
Estev snorted with derision. "Not to mention a fine profit."  
  
"Is that what's bothering you? That Harlan gets a share."  
  
Ferlan's brother had been to the field twice to check on their progress. With blank faced innocence, and perfect honesty, the boys had pointed at the barrow loaded with odds and ends and voiced their own disappointment over not discovering anything of greater value that day.  
  
"No," Estev said firmly. "That was the bargain. And I will keep it."  
  
Rolfe's eyes narrowed at the force behind those words. Was Estev trying to convince himself?  
  
"Of course."  
  
The mildness of the reply released much of the tightness within Estev's chest. If Rolfe did not doubt him, perhaps there was no reason to doubt himself. He ruffled Jesse's fur and said, "What plan have you and Shaymur come up with for selling the medallions?"  
  
Leaning against Dog's solid bulk, Rolfe frowned. "The perfect person to ask to help us would be Esiwmas."  
  
Estev shook his head slowly. His father had given his approval for their daily expeditions to the fields. After they had served their punishment for failing to appear when promised, he had gone so far as to release them from noon chores at the stable yard. He had even listened politely to their tales. But not once had the trader asked to see any of the objects. There was little chance that he would help them to sell any of the relics they had found.  
  
Rolfe nodded his agreement. "But since that's not possible, Shaymur and I decided we should ask Master Gemthir."  
  
"Gemthir?"  
  
"Why not? He knows lots of people, and he might even be able to read the runes on the medallions and on that dagger."  
  
Chewing his lip, Estev considered the suggestion. "You think so?"  
  
"There's no harm in asking. At the least, maybe he can tell us who else to talk to."  
  
"All right. When?"  
  
"We were thinking about tomorrow evening, before dinner. There's not that much left to do out here. We can stop early and go up to see him."  
  
"Good idea. Is everyone to go?"  
  
Rolfe shrugged. "I'm not sure. I was planning on asking Master Gemthir tomorrow morning if he would meet with us, and then seeing who could go with me. Shaymur should be there."  
  
Estev nodded. Shaymur was the oldest and always took the lead, though lately he had deferred more than one decision to Rolfe. With a sigh, Estev wondered why everything had to always change. By the end of summer, both Shaymur and Karston would be old enough to sign as apprentices to some master. Curthan would follow soon after that. Thank goodness that was not to be his fate. He would learn to manage the holding in Rohan and raise horses. Esdav would take over the trading part of the family. Or maybe Rolfe could do that? But that was all in too far in the future to be worrying now.  
  
Estev pushed Jesse's head off his knee and stood. "I've got to finish that lesson Master Gemthir set me to copying."  
  
With Jesse at his heels, the boy hastened out of the room without another word. Rolfe gathered up his charcoal and papers and tucked them away into a thin leather satchel with the family's crest imprinted on the strap. It had been a Yule gift from Esiwmas and housed all of his best drawings.  
  
Studying the sketch he had made of Estev, he wondered if it were possible to show the changes in his foster brother's behavior with a drawing. Maybe if he had more talent, he could; as it was, the boy in the picture looked the same as always. Snub nosed with ears that stuck out, a fact that Estev hotly denied. There was no evidence of the sudden shifts in mood or the distance the boy had put between himself and his friends during the past ten days. The others were worried too, but not one of them knew what to do. As soon as the field was cleared and all those relics sold, especially that knife, maybe Estev would return to normal. If not, Rolfe decided he would have to go to Esiwmas.  
  
Fastening the buckle on the satchel and setting it on shelf near the door, he said, "Come on, Dog. Let's go see if Sarantha has anything leftover from dinner." 


	11. Part Eleven

Part Eleven  
  
Master Gemthir adjusted the small lamp hanging above his table and the serpent engraved upon the blade began to dance once again. Estev quickly averted his eyes. Watching it caused a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Surreptitiously, he studied Shaymur and Rolfe's faces for any sign that they had noticed anything unusual. Seeing nothing, he sighed. Was he the only one? Did that mean it was just his imagination? For the hundredth time, he wished the blasted thing was still buried in the field.  
  
At his knee, Jesse whimpered, and Estev reached out to stroke the furry head. It had only been a short time since the dog had found them, but already the boy could not imagine being without him. Not as exuberant as Dog, Jesse was nevertheless equally intelligent. Time and again the boy had turned to find the animal watching him steadily, seeming to understand everything. Estev rubbed behind the dog's ears and smiled as Jesse pressed more firmly against his leg and quivered with happiness at being noticed.  
  
"You may give him one of the tarts if you wish, Estev," said the tutor setting the knife back on the table with a click. He lightly touched the three medallions, the assorted spear points and arrowheads, and the silver chain which Karston had found, then motioned toward the tray at his elbow. "Do be careful of the crumbs. You know how my housekeeper is about such things."  
  
"Thank you, sir." Estev considered the contents of the tray carefully and selected the largest jam filled tart. A veritable dragon when it came to dirt and crumbs, Mistress Tarmanil's baking almost made up for her scolding tongue. "May I divide this one between Jesse and Dog? I'll take them outside, then there won't be any crumbs on the floor."  
  
"An excellent idea." Master Gemthir gathered several more of the pastries onto a napkin and held it out. "There are more than enough, so take a few extra."  
  
After Estev thanked the tutor with a grin and led the dogs out, Gemthir placed the platter between Rolfe and Shaymur and said, "Help yourselves, boys."  
  
Taking great care not to dribble crumbs and being certain to leave several tarts for the tutor, the two boys made quick work of the offering. Pouring a tangy juice into small cups, Master Gemthir asked, "Why me?"  
  
Uncertain what to make of this question, Shaymur motioned for Rolfe to attempt to explain their reasoning. "We thought you might be able to tell us more about what we found since it was you who told me about the way the badges the Haradrim use have the serpent going in different directions." Rolfe spiraled a finger to demonstrate.  
  
"'Tis gratifying to know that you recall your lessons," replied the tutor dryly. He tapped his fingers upon the table. "Let me try again. Why is it necessary to ask me rather than one of your guardians?"  
  
Rolfe dropped his gaze to the floor as Shaymur said, "Sir, we thought it would be better if we found someone not related to any of us."  
  
"Why?" the man asked bluntly.  
  
Shaymur looked uncomfortable and replied, "We just thought that..."  
  
"You are not attempting to cheat Farmer Harlan out of his rightful share, are you?"  
  
"No, sir. It's more that we don't trust him not to try to cheat us."  
  
"Careful what you say," cautioned Gemthir, "to cast aspersions on a man's honesty is serious business."  
  
"I know, sir. But it's true. Ferlan's brother would see it as his due and think that since we are only boys he can get away with it." Shaymur's solemnity impressed the tutor.  
  
"I will accept your word that there is reason for concern. But I cannot accept that you have doubts concerning the honesty of either Esiwmas of Rohan or your grandsire, Shaymur. Surely, either of them would be the more obvious choice."  
  
The boys grimaced and fell silent. Until in an almost inaudible voice, Rolfe said, "Esiwmas doesn't like us searching for relics."  
  
Startled by this revelation for only a moment, Shaymur added hastily, "And my grandsire is becoming rather forgetful. Just the other day he lost his favorite cap and 'twas on his head the whole time."  
  
Leaning back in his chair and templing his fingers, the tutor said, "Rolfe, are you asking me to be party to something your guardian does not condone?"  
  
"No, sir," Rolfe said firmly and raised his head to meet his teacher's intent gaze directly. "He has said that we must make up our own minds about whether digging up such things was correct or not. Estev and I talked it over. We don't see anything bad about it. Lots of folks do it. But it wouldn't be right for us to ask Esiwmas to help."  
  
"No, it would not."  
  
The tutor rested his chin upon his hands and closed his eyes. In the silence of the room, it was possible to hear Estev speaking to the dogs. There was more to this than the boys were telling, but nothing said thus far appeared a lie. There were indeed many who searched the Pelennor fields for the artifacts which lay hidden there. Though it was understandable why Master Esiwmas felt as he did, as a scholar Gemthir had amassed a rather extensive collection of objects from all corners of Gondor and beyond, several of them garnered from the fields outside the walls. However, nothing he possessed came close to the quality of the knife these boys had stumbled across.  
  
Opening his eyes, he leaned forward to study the weapon again. Even considering Harlan's exorbitant percentage and dividing their share six ways, the boys would be in possession of a fair amount of coin when all was said and done. For a moment, the serpent upon the blade appeared to shiver as the tutor considered how different his life would be if he were the knife's owner.  
  
Frowning up at the flickering lamplight, Gemthir said, "I will accept the position of mediary if you are prepared to meet my terms."  
  
"Terms, sir?" Rolfe shifted uncertainly in his chair.  
  
"First, you agree to allow me to arrange for the sale of all artifacts you come across. I assure you that my contacts within the City are such that you will receive the best possible price."  
  
"That would be wonderful." The worry faded from Rolfe's eyes.  
  
The tutor held up a warning finger. "I will expect to receive a percentage of the sale as my commission."  
  
Shaymur nodded. He was accustomed to commerce and understood the need to receive compensation for your work. Thinking quickly of all the trades and bargains he had witnessed since his adoption by Esiwmas, Rolfe asked, "Would five percent be acceptable?"  
  
"Quite adequate in this situation." More briskly, Gemthir said, "The next order of business will be to make certain that Farmer Harlan agrees as well."  
  
"Harlan?" Rolfe said weakly. This was growing more complicated than he had expected, and from the way the freckles were standing out on Shaymur's face, his friend thought so as well. "If he knows we have anything worth while, he'll..."  
  
"Never fear, I believe that you boys have determined a masterful way of dealing with the man. You have sent the scrap to him on a daily basis. He has, if I understand it, peddled it to the smiths and metal workers for melting down without returning any of the profit to you boys. When I meet with him, I will simply inform him that you have commissioned me to arrange the sale of the items of importance that you have recently discovered." Seeing the renewed concern on the boys' faces, the man said, "Trust me to deal with any problems that arise with Farmer Harlan."  
  
"Yes, sir," the boys responded.  
  
"Third, your parents and guardians must be informed of the arrangements we have made. They are aware of how you have been spending your time, are they not?"  
  
"Yes, sir. They know." Shaymur sat up straighter in his chair. "Curthan's father, Curthimir, knows about everything we've found too. He's seen everything but the dagger."  
  
Rolfe added, "We've told Esiwmas about all of it. But he's never asked to see anything, and well..." His voice faded and he shrugged. He had already explained it once.  
  
"You are to be applauded for your tact in the matter, Rolfe," replied Master Gemthir softly. "The Rohirrim saved the City that day, but at great loss. Death frequently has a way of haunting those who survive."  
  
"I know, sir," Rolfe answered and ducked his head at the memory of two lonely graves beneath towering trees.  
  
Shaymur placed a hand on his friend's arm for a moment, then met the tutor's eyes in silent reprimand for bringing up such a topic.  
  
"My apologies, Rolfe. I had forgotten that you gentlemen know well the pain of losing those you love." The tutor's voice was filled with sincerity, and Rolfe nodded stiffly. "As I said, your handling of the situation has been most astute to this moment, and I am honored that you have consulted me. Will you allow me to keep the items you have for sale here at my home?"  
  
When the boys exchanged troubled glances, the man said, "It would make it easier for prospective buyers to view them, and I assure you that I will keep them quite safe."  
  
"It's not that we don't trust you, sir," Shaymur hastened to say. "It's just ..."  
  
The Gondorian scholar leaned back in his chair and sipped at his cup. In the quiet that fell when the freckle faced boy paused, the sound of Estev calling, "Bring it here" could be heard clearly. Some game of fetch must have been started with the dogs.  
  
Suddenly, Rolfe said firmly, "We would appreciate it very much, sir, if you were to keep the relics here."  
  
Shaymur looked doubtful. For a moment Gemthir expected the boy to reveal what they were keeping secret, but to his disappointment they merely exchanged worried looks.  
  
"I believe you said you would require at least another two days to complete the task of clearing the field for Farmer Harlan. As my contribution to this undertaking, Rolfe, I will excuse you and Estev from lessons tomorrow." The tutor held up a hand to forestall the exclamation of appreciation that greeted this announcement. "I will spend my hours meeting with your guardians and consulting with those of my colleagues who might have information concerning the Haradric writing. I trust you will put your time to productive use."  
  
"Yes, sir. We will, sir." Rolfe paused, then said slowly, "Consultations would be costly, would they not?"  
  
Master Gemthir raised an eyebrow. Trader Esiwmas would be quite pleased to hear that young Rolfe had developed such an understanding of the intricacies of trade. Being careful to keep his voice bland, the Gondorian said, "All fees of that nature would be paid by me from my commission. After all, in order to receive the highest price I must know what it is I am offering for sale."  
  
Nodding wisely, Rolfe said, "True, sir. Esiwmas is always saying that if you can match the goods to the buyer properly, things will sell themselves and for a larger profit."  
  
"Hmm," responded the tutor, hard pressed not to smile at such an observation. Rising to his feet, the man shook the hand of each of his young guests then said, "I will endeavor to meet the standards of our worthy trader by returning to you a substantial profit."  
  
Standing quickly, the boys thanked him again and set a time to meet the day after next to hear what had been discovered. Returning to the table, after ushering them out, the tutor reached a bony finger toward the snake etched upon the surface of the blade. He drew back as a hissing noise filled his ears and the serpent wiggled. Blinking up at the lamp, he muttered, "I must ask Mistress Tarmanil to have the lamp oil strained again."  
  
Without further thought, he turned to his shelves to gather the books and scrolls he would consult first.

* * *

"Did you have to leave everything with him?" Estev exclaimed sullenly, eyes flashing in the glow of the lantern hanging in the archway of a bootmaker's shop.  
  
"Yes,"Shaymur replied peacefully. "He has to have time to study everything and show them to people."  
  
Perched on the rim of the public well by the gate between the third and fourth circles, the older boys watched Estev carefully. What effect would taking the dagger away have? No one, except Ferlan, believed that Estev's attachment to the knife was mere greed. Something else was at work here, but they had been uncertain what to do. How did you go about trying to explain that you were worried about your friend carrying around the knife he had found without sounding foolish? Nothing Estev did or said was that unusual, except for the fact it was Estev doing and saying it. Esiwmas might have taken their tales of sleeplessness, missed meals and surliness seriously, but the fear that the trader would withdraw his permission for Rolfe and Estev to search the fields had caused them all to hold their tongues and cling to the hope that once the blade was no longer in his possession their friend's strange behaviors would cease.  
  
After pacing furiously around the well several times, Estev blew out a heavy breath and rubbed his hands against his thighs as if wiping away the feel of something distasteful. While mostly relieved to escape the temptation of the knife, there was still a part of him that wanted to run back up the winding road to the fifth circle and demand its return. But the bargain was equal shares, which meant the knife must be sold. Even if he did not keep the dagger for himself, at least everyone would know he had been the one to find it.  
  
Deciding that the situation called for some celebration after all, Estev pulled a slightly crushed tart from inside his tunic and divided it with his friends. Tossing the crusts to the dogs, the boys made short work of the treat. Shaymur then waved a good night and trotted off toward the third circle gate.  
  
Twilight deepened and in the east stars began to appear as Rolfe and Estev retraced their steps through the fourth circle tunnel and turned down the narrow street leading to home. The dogs, knowing their evening meal would be waiting, urged the boys on impatiently.  
  
Opening the wrought iron gate into the courtyard, Estev stopped and proclaimed with satisfaction, "You know, we've already made a profit."  
  
"How's that?" asked Rolfe pausing on the doorstep.  
  
"We don't have to go to lessons tomorrow," the younger boy stated with a sly grin.  
  
Rolfe's laughter rang off the stones, and the dogs joined in barking happily as they hurried inside.

* * *

_Author's notes: I can tell by the stats that there are people out there reading. Feedback of the constructive type is always appreciated. _


	12. Part Twelve

Part Twelve:  
  
"Sir, there is a gentleman to see you."  
  
To Mistress Tarmanil's intense relief, for she had already repeated the announcement three times, Master Gemthir raised his head and said, "Who is it?"  
  
Her lips pressed together in firm disapproval, the Gondorian woman glanced back into the entryway. Her household keys swinging rapidly, she hastened to her employer's side and whispered, "One of those Swertings, sir. Shall I send him away?"  
  
"By no means, madam." The tutor set aside the documents he had been studying and smoothed the sleeves of his robes. "Send him in and bring us some refreshment, please. An herbal tea would be appropriate and some of those excellent cinnamon cakes you served at the noon meal."  
  
"But sir, he's ..."  
  
When the tutor raised his eyebrows, she clamped her jaw shut tightly, gave a stiff nod and returned to the doorway. The sharpness of her "The master will see you now" would have left furrows of blood on a less worthy opponent. However, Ahmose of the House of Tharan, having faced many enemies in his long years and knowing well the desire of a loyal servant to protect the solitude of a scholarly master, merely touched his fingers to his forehead and bowed low before passing through the door the portly woman held open.  
  
Taking the prescribed three steps into the room, the dark man bowed again and kept his eyes lowered in accordance with the customs of his country. In rhythmic, yet eloquent Westron, he said, "Gemthir son of Ralthir, I bring you greetings from my master, Karif, Phazgân of the House of Tharan. If it pleases you, I am called Ahmose."  
  
Gravely polite, the Gondorian replied, "Ahmose of the House of Tharan, you are welcome. Your master is well respected in Minas Tirith."  
  
The gold wires twisted amidst his black hair shone as Ahmose bowed low again, his full robes of deep red sweeping the floor. "My master is, as are you, sir, a scholar. He turns his thoughts to learning the lessons of the past in hope that a better future might be created."  
  
"A worthy purpose," Gemthir said. "Will you be seated?"  
  
"It is my honor, sir."  
  
Allowing his curiosity about his surroundings to be seen, Ahmose lowered himself into the chair Master Gemthir indicated and ran his fingertips along the smoothly carved arms. Well made, yet worn with years as was the tapestry above the doorway. Sunlight sifted through pale curtains to reveal tall shelves bulging with bound books and tattered manuscripts. An ornate cabinet, specially designed to store rolled scrolls, stood open in the far corner of the room; its contents spilling out upon the floor. A smile flickered across the lined face at the thought that scholars did not differ a great deal, no matter what their country.  
  
The rattle of cups heralded Mistress Tarmanil reappearance. Settling the silver tray upon the small table before Master Gemthir's chair, she bobbed a curtsy and hurried from the room, eyes averted at all times from the visitor.  
  
"I apologize for my housekeeper," the tutor said as the door closed rather more firmly than was necessary.  
  
Ahmose lifted his hand in a brief gesture of denial. "Apologies are unnecessary; a loyal servant is a treasure beyond price."  
  
"Loyalty does not excuse rudeness to a guest."  
  
"Ah, but then she is female. Perhaps she is attempting to attract my attention." The small smile flashed again as if inviting Gemthir to join him in a private jest. "Surely, the women of Gondor are not so different from those of Harad."  
  
Closing his eyes briefly at the thought of his housekeeper's reaction to such a suggestion, Gemthir said dryly, "No, I rather believe that women everywhere are much the same. Allow me to pour you some tea. Will you take a cinnamon cake?"  
  
Accepting the steaming cup and a cake, the Southron waited until the other man had partaken of both food and drink before taking a delicate sip of the strong herbal tea. Nodding graciously, he said, "If you will pardon my haste, my master has directed me to discover the truth of information he has recently received."  
  
"How might I be of assistance?"  
  
"It has reached my master's ears that you are making inquiries concerning items found upon the field below." Ahmose glanced toward the window standing open to the warmth of the springtime air.  
  
"Your master has heard correctly."  
  
"Anticipating that the tales were true, my master has extended to me the privilege of examining the objects."  
  
"To what purpose?"  
  
At the tutor's sudden bluntness, Ahmose returned his cup to the table and placed his hands upon his knees palms up in sign that he held no weapon. "Forgive me, I do not understand."  
  
"Sir, I have been entrusted with these objects by my clients for the express purpose of offering them for sale. It would be inappropriate for me to allow those who have no intention of purchasing to examine them without more reason than you have given me." Though polite in both tone and word, the tutor's voice held a touch of steel.  
  
Ahmose blinked slowly. Defiance of the wishes of a phazgân of the Twenty Houses was a rare occurrence. One, however, must make allowance for the fact that the Gondorian did not realize his error.  
  
Bowing his head respectfully, the Southron said, "It is my master's understanding that you seek to ascertain the meaning of various markings upon items you have been commissioned to sell. It is his intention to offer you assistance."  
  
"Assistance? What manner of assistance?"  
  
Raising a hand to touch his chest, Ahmose dipped his head deferentially. "Myself. I am familiar with many aspects of my master's studies."  
  
Gemthir considered the man opposite him. There was an air of vitality about him that belied the seamed appearance of his face. What else was not as it appeared about his unexpected visitor? Karif of the House of Tharan was known as a scholar and a driving force behind the treaties recently made between Gondor and lands to the south, but never before had the phazgân indicated any interest in artifacts discovered upon the Pelennor Field. Among the Haradrim, if those who had died had done so in defeat, neither the bodies of the dead nor their armament were to be recovered.  
  
Could the phazgân's sudden interest be why his attempts to decipher the markings upon the dagger had been met with polite silence? Yet, word had obviously spread about the blade's existence. Ahmose of Tharan was not the first to come knocking at his door this day. There had been two respectable dealers in antiquities and rare commodities, and others had also appeared whose reputations were not so well known.  
  
"Forgive me if I seem unappreciative of Karif Phazgân's offer, but the interests of my clients must take precedence."  
  
Muffled voices were heard from the entryway. The housekeeper's voice raised in protest as several younger, and rather insistent, speakers clamored for an audience with Master Gemthir.  
  
"Pardon me," the tutor said ruefully, rising from his seat, "I believe Mistress Tarmanil has met her match with these visitors."  
  
The corners of his eyes creasing with amusement, Ahmose murmured, "A situation one would not believe possible."  
  
"Indeed," Gemthir agreed.  
  
He opened the door to find not the three youth he had expected but all six of his young clients and their canine companions. Liberally streaked with dirt and excited almost beyond comprehension, they swarmed upon the tutor. Voices spilling over one another, the boys proclaimed a new discovery.  
  
Mindful of Ahmose's presence, Gemthir raised his hands and attempted to halt the flood. "Gentlemen, let Tarmanil take you into the kitchen, and I will be with you momentarily."  
  
"But Master, this is truly important," protested Estev.  
  
"Yes, it's even better than that dagger," insisted a wild haired lad. Whom Gemthir guessed was Ferlan, as he resembled Farmer Harlan.  
  
Estev retorted, "You're only saying that because you found it."  
  
"Am not," argued the other boy. "You'll see. This is going to be worth even more. Show him, Shaymur."  
  
"Boys, boys, I can not ..."  
  
His words died as Shaymur held out a bronze armband. The coiled serpent of the noble houses of Harad gazed at him with fiery eyes. Along the edges were twisted iron and copper wire in a pattern instantly recognizable as matching the dagger now resting in a locked chest.  
  
"Are they real rubies?" asked Ferlan eagerly.  
  
"Yes, young masters, they are," was the soft reply of an unfamiliar voice.

* * *


	13. Part Thirteen

Part Thirteen:  
  
Bowing gracefully in solemn greeting, the red robed man respectfully hid his amusement as the boys stared in open-mouthed astonishment. Until this moment none, save Shaymur, had ever been this close to a living Haradrim and wide eyed they took in every detail. Taller than many men of the South, he was equal to Master Gemthir in height, and though nearly as slender as the master he possessed the wiry strength of a warrior. His shining black hair hung in plaits to his shoulders and soft leather boots, dyed red to match his robes, reached to his knees. Most noteworthy, to the boys, was the golden medallion gleaming upon his breast.  
  
"How do you know?" asked Estev recovering his voice. "You haven't even looked at it up close."  
  
Tilting his head, Ahmose replied gently, "But I have."  
  
The boys regarded the man uncertainly. Taking advantage of their confused silence, Gemthir ushered them into the side room, and dismissed Mistress Tarmanil with the directive to bring suitable refreshments in half an hour.  
  
Seating the boys upon three benches pulled to form a semicircle and ordering their canine companions into silence, Gemthir indicated the Southron. "Ahmose is a representative of Karif Phazgân of the House of Tharan."  
  
Karston leaned toward Rolfe and whispered, "What's a phazgân?"  
  
"It means, young sir, that my master is the leader of our House," replied Ahmose.  
  
"What did you mean, sir," Rolfe asked, "that you've seen the armband before? Before it was lost in battle?"  
  
"It is a treasure of the House of Tharan." Ahmose settled once more into his chair and turned to Master Gemthir. "One might presume these are your clients."  
  
"One might," the tutor answered dryly.  
  
After the boys had given their names, Gemthir added, "Rolfe and Estev are the sons of Esiwmas of Rohan and my students. They and their friends have been clearing a field of debris. I was engaged to represent them when they chanced upon some items of value."  
  
Ferlan opened his mouth to speak, but snapped it shut when Curthan's elbow dug sharply into his ribs.  
  
Shaymur rolled the armband thoughtfully between his fingers, then looked up to meet Ahmose's dark eyes. "It belongs to you."  
  
"As an heirloom of my House, it belongs to all who are of my clan."  
  
"But it was lost, right?" exclaimed Ferlan anxiously. He could guess the direction of Shaymur's thoughts. "And we found it!"  
  
"Don't get so excited, little man," said Curthan soothingly. "Master Gemthir will sort it all out properly."  
  
Six sets of eyes fastened on the tutor who said placidly, "If Master Ahmose will be kind enough to give us all the particulars, I will certainly attempt to negotiate a solution that will prove profitable to all involved."  
  
The slow blinking of the Southron's dark eyes was the only discernible indication of uneasiness at being the new focus for the boys' intense gaze. A lifting of one eyebrow acknowledged the man's appreciation of Gemthir's subtle handling of the situation.  
  
"My master, Karif Phazgân, has learned of your discoveries and has sent me to ascertain their credibility."  
  
The boys shifted restlessly at this statement until Shaymur shook his head before saying, "We just found the armband, so you must mean the dagger."  
  
"Yes, young master," agreed Ahmose.  
  
"How will you," Shaymur paused, then repeated the man's phrasing, "determine its credibility?"  
  
"In many ways. Primarily by the insignia inscribed upon the blade."  
  
Before the boys could launch into a full description of the knife, Gemthir asked, "And what would that be?"  
  
Ahmose bent his head in thought. His master had given him leave to use his own discretion. However, if the eventual outcome did not meet the phazgân's approval, the consequences would prove harsh. Raising his head, he studied those before him. Gemthir's reputation had already received the scrutiny of his master, and the name of Esiwmas of Rohan was not unknown. But who were these others? What clans did they hold allegiance too? Releasing a long held breath, the Southron cast his fate upon the winds.  
  
"For many lives of men, the people of the South and those of the North have warred with each other. With the casting down of the Dark Lord, there is a breath of hope that our peoples might make lasting peace. To that goal, I will speak." Ahmose's voice slipped into the sing-song cadence of a gifted storyteller. "Long ago, before the time of my father's father's father, a messenger appeared before Nuphar Phazgân of the House of Tharan. Pleasing to the eye and gentle to the ear, he spoke of the might of his lord and how all who joined with him in battle against those of the North would be well rewarded with both riches and power."  
  
"It was Sauron," whispered Ferlan, then squirmed as black eyes fixed upon him.  
  
"Nay, little master, not the Dark One himself, but a man who chose to believe the lies of the Enemy and sought to tempt others along the same path." Ahmose sighed. "To the sorrow of my House, the ears of the phazgân were open to him. Vows were made that have been redeemed time and again over the long years with the blood of our warriors. Vows from which there was no hope of honorable release save death."  
  
"Thus it was that tied by our ancient vows, spurred by a carefully nurtured hatred for the men of the North, and driven by fear of the Dark One and his lieutenants, great numbers marched to a battle from which they did not return. The men of Gondor and Rohan are fierce and victory was theirs that day."  
  
Amongst the boys sidelong glances were exchanged. Here was one once numbered among the enemy. How should they react? Feelings of pride in their kith and kin who had fought in the battles warred with a desire to understand this man who clearly mourned for the warriors of his clan.  
  
"But what about the dagger?" said Estev suddenly.  
  
"And the armband?" added Karston.  
  
A golden earring shimmered in the light as Ahmose leaned forward and held a hand out toward Shaymur. Only after receiving a nod from Master Gemthir did the boy release the bronze ornament.  
  
"Here is the serpent of Harad," the dark man laid a slim finger on the center of the band. "The jeweled eyes show that it is the property of a lord of the Twenty Houses. Rubies, the stones of fire, are worn only by the leader of a House."  
  
"And it's coiled to the right too!" exclaimed Ferlan.  
  
White teeth flashed in a quick smile. "Ah, scholars you are."  
  
"Not me," said the farm lad quickly. "Rolfe showed us that on one of the medall... ouch, would you stop that!"  
  
Curthan frowned down at the smaller boy. "You talk too much, Ferlan."  
  
Ferlan rubbed his ribs and glared, but closed his mouth tightly when his friend nudged him again.  
  
Turning a blind eye to the exchange, Ahmose pointed to the rune on the serpent's right. "Here, the emblem of the House of Tharan." Moving to the left, the man pointed to another rune. "And here is the symbol of Hamzah to whom the armband was gifted."  
  
Rolfe noted that the second was the very one they had determined was identical to that upon the dagger and that the first matched with those on the three medallions. Glancing at Master Gemthir, he raised one eyebrow inquiringly and received a slight nod in return.  
  
"Who gave it to him?" asked Estev, relieved that the serpent on the bronze ring had not exhibited any tendency to move. "The Dark Lord?"  
  
The Southron laughed softly. "Nay, young sir, it was a gift from the Kâthuphazgân to mark the day Hamzah became head of our clan many lifetimes ago. It has been passed on to each leader since that time."  
  
"Until now," stated Shaymur bluntly.  
  
"Until now," agreed Ahmose. "The eldest brother of my master wore it when he marched north to answer the command of the Dark Lord. His name will be sung no more in the roll of the phazgâns."  
  
The opening notes of the "The Mounds of Mundburg"sounded in his mind as Estev asked, "Why not?"  
  
Ahmose tilted his head inquiringly.  
  
"Why won't his name be sung in the rolls?" the boy clarified.  
  
"Ah, forgive me for not understanding." Dark fingers rubbed the smooth surface of the armband. "It is the way of my people that those whose death is not in victory are named no longer."  
  
"That's stupid," Estev replied, drawing agreeing nods from his companions.  
  
"Estev," chided Master Gemthir. "Calling potential buyers rude names is not the most profitable tacit."  
  
"I'm sorry," the Rohirrim lad mumbled. "But they fought well, my father says. Why shouldn't their names be remembered by someone?"  
  
Ahmose drew back, only honesty and curiosity shone in the strange blue eyes of the boy; but how did one begin to explain a custom that had always been? One that he had never questioned before.  
  
"Since you won't name him, does that mean you don't want the armband back?" Ferlan broke the silence and slid to the edge of the bench to avoid Curthan's elbow.  
  
Grasping the opportunity to avoid a response to Estev's question, Ahmose answered, "I cannot say as my master must first be consulted."  
  
"Certainly," said Master Gemthir, quelling any further comments from the boys with a hard look. "After all, it was not the armband which brought you here."  
  
The Southron said simply, "No." He held the jeweled band out to Shaymur, who accepted it and passed it on to the tutor.  
  
After examining the marks Ahmose had pointed out, Gemthir said, "I believe you had requested to see the dagger and other artifacts the boys had retrieved from the fields."  
  
Six intent gazes fastened again upon the Haradrim: three with pleased excitement, two with quiet regard, and one with dismay that was quickly hidden. Dread wrapped icy fingers about Ahmose's heart at the glimpse of such an emotion haunting the eyes of one so young. Had the fears of his master come to pass?  
  
"I am ordered to place myself at your direction and assist you in the proper identification of the items the young ones have returned from the field."  
  
A lift of his eyebrows indicated Gemthir's understanding of the subtle game of words they were playing. "Your assistance would be of great value. Why does Karif of the House of Tharan send such a gift?"  
  
Mindful of the tutor's mention of paying for consultations with his colleagues, Rolfe and Shaymur exchanged glances. Gifts of significant worth always carried obligations.  
  
"In the interest of allowing the newly planted peace between our peoples time to grow."  
  
The six pairs of eyes watching this exchange blinked and six heads turned as one toward Gemthir. As he nodded, the boys relaxed, pleased with themselves for having the foresight to engage the tutor as their representative.  
  
"If there is any special significance to any item the boys have discovered, I trust you will make it known."  
  
The Southron's eyes flicked to the face of the younger Rohirrim. Such a revelation might prove already too late.  
  
"As Karif Phazgân has ordered," Ahmose said touching his forehead and bowing his head.  
  
Accepting that he would get no other response from the man, Gemthir tucked the armband into his robes, drew a key from his right sleeve and passed it to Rolfe. "The small chest on the third shelf."  
  
Rolfe rose, stepped carefully around Dog's front paws and crossed the room to the indicated shelf. Inserting the key, he lifted the brass bound lid and asked, "Everything or just the dagger?"  
  
"The dagger and one medallion should be sufficient for now," replied the tutor gathering the teacups and remaining cakes onto the tray. "Estev, if you would be so kind as to carry this to the sideboard."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
The black and white herd dog lifted his head and whined as Estev stood, but remained in his place beside the boy's bench in obedience to a quiet, "Stay, Jesse."  
  
Master Gemthir took a black velvet cloth from a shallow drawer and covered the battered top of the low table. Accepting the artifacts from Rolfe with a nod of thanks, he waited until the two boys had returned to their seats before placing the golden medallion upon the cloth. With eager anticipation the boys leaned forward barely breathing, their eyes moving from the shining badge to the unreadable dark face. 


	14. Part Fourteen

Part Fourteen  
  
Pressed against Estev's leg, Jesse sniffed the air. He was hungry. After many months of scrounging for food, he had quickly become re-accustomed to regular meals. It was time for a meal now, but the possibility of being served one seemed slim. The last time he had been to this place, his boy had fed him a chewy treat. Somewhere in this room there were more treats. He could smell them. But how could he convince his boy to leave off this talking and focus on important things. Yawning toothily, he laid his head upon his paws and closed his eyes.  
  
Nose twitching, he sniffed again. The new man had a scent very different from the others, one that called forth recollections of darkness, shouting and the hot smell of blood. The hairs along his spine began to rise and a growl grumbled in his throat.  
  
"Easy, Jesse," his boy said.  
  
Turning his head, the dog gave a quick lick to the hand that stroked his ears. He would obey as long as the man did not threaten his boy. Relaxing beneath the soothing fingers, Jesse lowered his head once more and thought longingly of the beef bone he had buried yesterday afternoon.  
  
Slipping the fine gold chain over his head, Ahmose placed the medallion from his neck beside the one resting on the black velvet.  
  
"They're the same," Rolfe said, then added. "You are a captain, sir?"  
  
The man bowed his head. "It is my honor to be an Ulbar of the House of Tharan."  
  
"You weren't ... I mean you didn't...." Ferlan stammered and fell silent beneath the weight of the appalled looks from the other boys.  
  
The Southron sat silently until the boys' eyes returned to him, then in a toneless voice he said, "My fate did not call me north to battle with the Horse Lords and the men of the White City. None who fought before the gates of this city returned to our lands beyond the River Harnen."  
  
"No one returned?" Curthan asked.  
  
He and Shaymur had been among those boys allowed to stay and run errands for the Healing Hall during the siege and had seen first hand the carnage following the Battle of the Pelennor. All his life there had been empty houses in the City and certainly there were many yet. He could not think of a single family that had not lost some kin to the War; but his father once said that upwards of ten thousand Haradrim had come north to fight. Curthan shifted uncomfortably at the unexpected feeling of emptiness caused by the thought of not one of those men returning to their homes and families.  
  
"The wrath of Gondor was great that day; but as the wise have said, 'Such is the fortune of war to be killed by the enemy.'" Ahmose regarded the young Gondorian solemnly. "We of the Haradwaith were bound to the Dark Lord by vows made by the fathers of our fathers' fathers, but no more do we do His biding. The Lord of Mordor has been vanquished by the Men of the West and with them the Twenty Houses of Harad have made peace."  
  
Lifting the medallion upon the fine chain so that it twisted in the sun, Ahmose concluded, "It is a future of peace between our peoples that my master, Karif Phazgân, seeks. What seek you?"  
  
Startled into dumbness by the question, the boys frowned and lowered their eyes. What had they sought? To help a friend? To find a treasure? To become important? Examining their motives they were suddenly uncertain as to the honor of their actions.  
  
The sound of Mistress Tarmanil's muffled voice directing the cleaning of the entryway released the boys from the maze of their thoughts. Exhaling pent up breaths, they lifted their heads.  
  
"You have given us much to consider, sir." Master Gemthir said quietly.  
  
"I have also heard much that will require careful thought," replied Ahmose returning his badge to its place about his neck. His eyes traveled from one young face to the next, lingering longest on the younger Rohirrim lad. "I beg that you will not take offense at my words, young sirs. You do no differently than many older than you have done. In your quest to clear away the remains of battle, you have discovered that for which others might pay." A slim dark hand indicated the medallion upon the cloth before them. "I ask only that you will not forget that these remnants are all that is now left of many who would have chosen a different course if one had been offered them."  
  
"Yes, sir," answered Shaymur and Rolfe, while Karston nodded sharply.  
  
Curthan met the gaze of the man's dark eyes for a long moment, then said, "My father is of the Guard. My brother was as well. He lies within the second mound outside the Gate." His voice dropped as he added, "My mother still cries for him."  
  
The lines of his face deepened as in his own tongue, Ahmose murmured a response, then he translated, "Thus chant the women of Harad, 'Alone must I sing o'er them. Alone must I array them. Alone must my hands deal with their departing.'[1]"  
  
Face stiff with the effort not to release the emotions he felt would shame him, Curthan replied, "I will think on what you have said."  
  
"That is the first step to understanding between our peoples." Ahmose's fingers moved from his forehead to his breast in salute.  
  
Ferlan fidgeted uncertainly beside Curthan. No one seemed to be making much sense. Was the man going to pay them for the medallions and the armband, or not?  
  
As if anticipating the boy's unspoken question, Ahmose leaned back in his chair and said, "Though strange to your thinking, it is not the custom of my people to reclaim the objects of those who have fallen in defeat." As Ferlan's face crumpled, the Haradrim raised a finger, "However, ransom may be offered for the return of heirlooms of the House."  
  
"Like the armband?" Ferlan's eagerness drew a look of rebuke from Rolfe and Karston and another elbow in the ribs from Curthan.  
  
"Yes, but," again a cautionary finger was raised, "my master must make that decision and negotiate the exchange with your representative."  
  
With a relieved sigh, the farm lad sat back and gave Master Gemthir a happy grin. Harlan was going to be very pleased with the way things were turning out.  
  
"Is the dagger an heirloom of your House also?" asked Rolfe to draw attention away from Ferlan's obvious delight.  
  
"There were many daggers carried into battle." Ahmose smiled slightly. "Thus I can not say until I have examined it. With your permission, of course."  
  
All save Estev, who kept his head low and refused to respond, indicated their approval with either a nod or quick word. Master Gemthir frowned at the young Rohirrim twisting his fingers together. Something was bothering the lad; but any attempt to draw him out must be delayed until the departure of their guest.  
  
Leaning forward, Gemthir removed the wrappings from the dagger. The rippled edges gleamed dully while the copper etched serpent captured the afternoon sun and caused the blade to gently glow. An infinitesimal flicker of recognition flashed in the Haradrim's black eyes.  
  
"You have seen this blade before?"  
  
Careful not to touch the metal of the weapon, a dark finger traced the line of Haradric following the serpent's coils. "Yes, many times in the hands of my master's eldest brother. It bears the name of Nuphar, son of Hamzah, who long ago was Phazgân of our House."  
  
Estev's hands jerked in his lap, but none save Ahmose noted it for Ferlan's loud, "It's an heirloom then?"  
  
"Yes, young sir, and one my master will be most pleased to see."  
  
Shaymur, Rolfe and Karston exchanged glances while Curthan clapped Ferlan on the back and whispered, "That should bring up the price rather nicely."  
  
"What of you, young sir?" the Southron asked suddenly.  
  
Estev jerked as he realized the question was directed at him. Inexplicable anger surged through him at being made the focus of inquisition. Had the others noticed him staring at the knife?  
  
Eyes now firmly focused on the tips of his muddy boots, he muttered, "I don't know what you mean."  
  
"Did you find what you sought on the fields below?"  
  
"Yes...No," Estev's loud exclamations caused Jesse to raise his head and whine anxiously. "I mean ...I don't know."  
  
"What did you find, young one?" The Southron's whispery voice compelled Estev to lift his head. The anguish in the boy's eyes was clear. Gemthir leaned forward to intervene, but before he could a reply was given.  
  
"The dagger. I found it." Estev swallowed visibly, then clenched his fists tightly upon his thighs. "It's meant to be mine. Not yours."  
  
"Didn't I tell you? He's trying to take it for himself." cried Ferlan before Curthan could stop him.  
  
"And why not? I found it."  
  
His boy's distress growing, Jesse stood and put his head on the boy's knee. Unlike the other times during the past few days, Estev ignored the dog.  
  
"An agreement was made that what was found would be shared equally amongst you," stated Master Gemthir in the same authoritative tone he used when lecturing about the geographical features of Lebennin. When Estev did not respond, he asked sharply, "Was it not?"  
  
Jesse yipped in confusion. Why did this man speak harshly to his boy? They were friends. Or so Jesse had thought.  
  
"Yes, but...I want it."  
  
"Estev." Rolfe used in the calm, even voice that had worked before to draw his foster brother from this mood. "You will keep the bargain. You know you will."  
  
"But I want it." Leaning forward, Estev reached his hand out to toward the table in a plea. "I only want to see it. I haven't seen it in two days. Give it to me, please."  
  
"Nay, Master Gemthir, do not," said the Haradrim abruptly.  
  
Laying his hand on his foster brother's arm, only to have it shaken off, Rolfe swiveled about to face the dark man and demanded, "What more do you know about that knife? Why does it have this hold on Estev?"  
  
Eyes black as the Othram met and held Rolfe's in a stony gaze. "Have you not already guessed?"  
  
"It matters not what the boys might have guessed," the steel in Gemthir's voice was no longer sheathed, "You will tell us everything."  
  
Ahmose stiffened and his lips drew back in a faint sneer. A lowly scholar had no right to command him, an Ulbar to the House of Tharan, to reveal the secrets of his House. The black and white dog that had lain at the young Rohirrim's feet barked sharply as the boy dropped to his knees and covered his face with his hands. The dark haired one, also named as a son of Esiwmas, knelt beside him speaking with the rolling language of the Horse Lords. As the son of the Guard set himself as a shield before the two boys, the Haradrim passed a weary hand across his face and slumped in his seat.  
  
Shaking his head, he said, "I fear my information may be too late."  
  
Gemthir stared from the man to the boys huddled on the floor in dismay, then he stood and stepped toward his students.  
  
"Heed my words," cautioned Ahmose, "more than one has died at the hand of a friend wielding that blade. Do not allow it within his reach."  
  
The tutor stared down his long nose at the dagger as if a living serpent was coiled upon the table, "Dare I allow it within yours?"  
  
"A fair question, and one I am not assured of the answer."  
  
"We must trust to hope and honor. First, I must aid Estev."  
  
The tutor turned to the boys. Estev now sat with his face buried in Jesse's comforting fur with Rolfe and Dog on either side of him. The others, following Curthan's lead, had adopted protective positions around the small group.  
  
"Well done, boys," Gemthir said with approval. "Now if you will retake your seats, we will see this matter to its conclusion." Laying a gentle hand on Estev's head, he added, "Come now, lad, you've done nothing wrong. Wishing is not at all the same as doing. I know you well enough to know that you would never break an agreement."  
  
Estev shook his head, denying the tutor's good opinion.  
  
Gemthir straightened. "Which of you will tell me exactly what has been going on?"  
  
Shaymur and Rolfe shifted uneasily. They should have told someone how deeply attached Estev had grown to the knife, but they had not..  
  
"The time for secrecy is over."  
  
"Yes, sir," Shaymur said, to be echoed quickly by the others.  
  
Beginning slowly and occasionally interrupting each other, the boys told the tale of Estev's finding of the knife and the way he had taken to carrying it with him all the time.  
  
"He never showed it to us, but we all knew he had it." Shaymur frowned down at his feet. "We couldn't figure out a way to tell anyone what was wrong without sounding foolish."  
  
"Is there anything else?"  
  
From his place beside Estev, Rolfe nodded. "He was getting up every night to check on it. Sometimes two or three times. He would open the chest and stare at it, then go back to bed. I tried talking to him, but it was like he never heard me. Dog made sure he never left the room."  
  
Gemthir lowered himself into his chair with a sigh. After all his years of dealing with the vagaries of boys, it never ceased to amaze him how the young accepted the most outrageous occurrences as normal. Closing his eyes, the tutor considered the situation. Should he notify the boys' guardians first or attempt to discover exactly what this dagger was?  
  
A wavering voice intruded upon his thoughts. "Master, there's something else you need to know."  
  
One hand wrapped tightly in the herd dog's ruff and the other clinging to Rolfe's, a pale faced Estev leaned against the bulk of the larger canine, Dog. Steadfastly keeping his eyes from the table, the boy said, "It moves."  
  
Recalling the flicker of movement that he had attributed to the lamplight, Gemthir nodded. "Tell us, Estev. If you can."  
  
Tightening his grasp on Rolfe, the younger boy trembled and hung his head. His words, directed at the floor, tumbled one over the other. "The first time, I thought it was just the light. Then it did it again. But no one else saw anything." Seeking confirmation Estev glanced up at the other boys.  
  
Face twisted with apology, Shaymur swallowed. "I thought the eyes glowed, but it only happened once. I'm sorry, Estev. I should have said something."  
  
Estev shook his head. "No, I should have. I don't know what I was thinking, I just wanted it. To hold it. But I couldn't break our bargain, my father would hate me. A man who cannot keep his word can never be trusted."  
  
"You have kept your word, lad. You have broken no bargains." The tutor reassured the boy.  
  
"But I still want it." The boy's wail echoed off the stone walls.  
  
"What is that thing?" said Rolfe fiercely, wrapping an arm around Estev's shuddering shoulders.  
  
"A gift."  
  
All eyes flew to the Southron. His lined face stiff, unreadable. As were the black pits of his eyes. Only the hands gripping his thighs revealed an inner turmoil.  
  
"I believe it is time for us to hear the whole tale," the Gondorian said firmly.  
  
Ahmose grimaced ruefully. "None who live know the full tale, but I will do my best."

* * *

[1] From The Volsunga Saga: The Lamentation of Gudrun over Sigurd's Death


	15. Part Fifteen

Part Fifteen  
  
Leaning forward, the Haradrim motioned toward the window through which a narrow sliver of pale spring sky could be seen. "Beyond the walls of the City of Stone, the fields grow green and herders tend their flocks in safety. It is the same in my country, though the sun is warmer there. Wide plains that go to the distant mountains. Much I am told like your country of Rohan."  
  
Ahmose directed his gaze at Rolfe, inviting him to respond.  
  
"Estev is Rohirrim, sir. I am Gondorian by birth. Esiwmas adopted me."  
  
"Ah," exclaimed the man. "You act very much as brothers."  
  
"They are my family now," the boy said simply. Giving Estev's shoulders a slight squeeze, he added, "I get to practice being bossy."  
  
Rolfe had taken exactly the tone needed. Master Gemthir and the Haradrim gave matching nods of satisfaction when Estev sat up and rubbed his face with his sleeve.  
  
"You don't need to practice," the boy muttered. "You're already good at it."  
  
"Older brothers are the same everywhere. Are they not, young masters?" Ahmose tilted his head toward Curthan, then Ferlan, and waited.  
  
"Yes, sir," replied the two.  
  
Having gathered his audience, the dark man sat back with a sigh. "As the nature of brothers does not change from place to place, neither does the nature of men. Some live always with honor as their guide and others forever shift with the wind of greed. Men who want what is best for the one, rather than for the many. Also true is that there are forces at work in this world that men do not understand. Forces of good and evil. Forces against which no man can stand.  
  
The boys nodded in agreement, but did not interrupt the rhythm of the story.  
  
"Long ago, the lands of Middle-Earth fell victim to the Great Plague. No country escaped its sword. Not Eriador, not Gondor, not Rhûn. Not Harad. Children were left orphaned and parents were left childless. Tribes were left leaderless, and leaders were left without people to follow them. Those few who survived in the lands beyond the River Harnen combined their numbers. Thus were born the Twenty Houses. To them, all tribes belong, and to the phazgân of each House is owed great loyalty. As is the nature of men, some are weak, others strong, some are born to lead and others too frightened to take command."  
  
Jesse squirmed as Estev clutched him tightly.  
  
"A weak man," the Southron continued, "if born in peaceful times may do his duty with no hardship, but sad is the House whose leader is unworthy when the enemy marches upon their door. This fate befell the House of Tharan in the times of our fathers' fathers' fathers."  
  
"In the midst of our woe, there appeared, from distant lands, an emissary. With honeyed voice he spoke of the power of his Lord. A Lord who would fight our enemies as his own and raise this weak phazgân to great heights so that all might do him honor. As proof of this great Lord's respect a gift was made. A dagger etched with the Serpent of the Twenty Houses and bearing the name Nuphar."  
  
Ahmose fell silent and stared at his hands. Then with his voice barely more than a whisper he went on.  
  
"Oaths were taken. Binding our House to the service of this distant Lord for so long as the dagger remained whole. Through the years, similar fates befell the other great Houses, until all were subject to the commands of Mordor."  
  
"I knew it," breathed Ferlan.  
  
"Evil directed the counsels of our leaders, young masters. Yet, not every man turned from honor. Those few who believed not in the evil ways of the Dark Lord and worked to free our people from this terrible alliance lived careful lives. To be discovered was the path to unpleasant death. My master is one such man. On the day the Dark Lord fell, we seized our chance. The West's victory against Sauron was ours as well. Great was the price we paid upon the fields of the Pelennor, but more bitter was that claimed upon the banks of the Harnen for there brother drew blade against brother."  
  
The lines upon his face deepened. "Was our freedom truly won? Were we yet bound to Evil? Where was the dagger of Nuphar? It had gone to war with my master's eldest brother. From that battle nothing and no one returned, save the rumors of Gondor's wrath. Had it shattered like the Tower of Barad-dur? Or had it been found whole with our ancient oath intact? These thoughts troubled the minds of the wise. It is my belief that you have found the answers to many of their questions."  
  
"To our sorrow," Master Gemthir said.  
  
Disappointment evident in his voice, Ferlan eyed the knife and said, "I don't see anything strange."  
  
The others echoed his findings, if not his emotion.  
  
Master Gemthir studied the blade carefully, then shook his head. "I must say I am relieved, though confused."  
  
"As am I," Ahmose said. "It appears much as I have seen it before. Its evil known only through its past. One wonders why it speaks to the young one, but to no other?"  
  
"Estev was the first to touch it. Does that matter?" asked Shaymur. "And he's been carrying it around every day."  
  
"Possibly," Gemthir replied. "But I will now confess that when you delivered it into my keeping, it writhed and hissed for me as well. I discounted the incident, believing it my imaginings and the result of poorly strained lamp oil."  
  
"It talked to you, too?" A strange mixture of relief and jealousy shone in Estev's eyes as he twisted around to face the tutor.  
  
"Many have witnessed the blade's hypnotizing dance." Ahmose said. "Few have resisted the temptations of its fell voice. Perhaps, as your friend has said, you touched it first, and awoke it. Perhaps, too, it is as my master hopes, the blade's powers have weakened. Though great is your desire to keep it within your sight, you have not forsaken your honor and claimed it as your own. Others have not withstood the evil of the blade so well."  
  
Master Gemthir interjected, "Estev possesses two strong shields against evil."  
  
"I do?"  
  
"You have the love and respect of family and friends," Master Gemthir pointed to the other boys, and then at the two dogs beside him, "but most of all, you know what is truth. Remember our discussion concerning Trail Master Liam?"  
  
Estev nodded slowly. "Being able to tell the rumor from the news?"  
  
"Precisely." The tutor smiled gently, "My dear boy, you possess the same trait. From the tale told here, you have fought against the urgings of this evil thing from the beginning. You knew it was wrong, and you have not given in. If this was once a gift from the Dark Lord of Mordor, its history is far more foul than has yet been told. You have done very well indeed."  
  
Fastening his gaze upon the sky eyes of the young Rohirrim, Ahmose said, "As your master has guessed, the history of this blade is indeed fouler than I have told. But such stories are not for the ears of the young."  
  
"They may be young in years, sir," Master Gemthir replied, "but each has lived through experiences that have left grown men shattered,"  
  
At Gemthir's proclamation, the boys straightened and exchanged proud looks. Estev, however, chewed his lower lip uncertainly. His eyes wandered to the dagger until Jesse nudged his chest and Dog woofed softly in his ear.  
  
"What happens now? Will I always want it?"  
  
"Forgive me, but I know not," said the Haradrim as all heads turned to him for an answer. "Karif Phazgân has made careful study of the Blade of Nuphar. One may hope that he might answer."  
  
"One may always hope. Do not despair. We will find a solution." Gemthir fixed the boy with a reassuring gaze to which Estev responded with a nod and a weak smile. 


	16. Part Sixteen

Part Sixteen  
  
A sharp tap at the door heralded the entrance of Mistress Tarmanil bearing an enormous platter which she settled on the sideboard. At her heels was a kitchen boy balancing a large pitcher and several cups. Unlike the housekeeper, who continued to deny the Haradrim the honor of her recognition, the boy gawked openly at the red robed man seated in the chair opposite Master Gemthir. As the pitcher tipped dangerously in the boy's hands, Tarmanil snapped her fingers to recall him to his task.  
  
"Set it there, Borthond," she said briskly, directing a frown at muddy boots and paws. Rolfe and Estev scrambled to their feet and the other boys shifted uncomfortably; but the housekeeper said only, "Will that be all, sir?'  
  
"Yes, thank you," responded Gemthir with a patient smile.  
  
Tarmanil bobbed a curtsey and shoving the kitchen boy before her moved toward the still open door.  
  
"On second thought..." The housekeeper paused mid step when the tutor spoke again. "Please send Borthond to inform the boys' families that they are dining with me and will be home by the seventh bell?"  
  
Gemthir hesitated, then rose and went to his desk. He scribbled a hasty note, then sealed it and held it out to the kitchen boy.  
  
Speaking softly, he said, "Deliver this to Esiwmas of Rohan rather than the other message. Do you understand, Borthond?"  
  
The boy smiled broadly and tucked the message into this belt. "Yes, sir. Trader Esiwmas receives the note and the others are told the boys dine with you."  
  
"Off you go then," Master Gemthir said, then maneuvered the housekeeper through the door and closed it firmly.  
  
Jesse and Dog, noses twitching, leaned against the legs of their boys and stared up beseechingly. Ferlan, his nose atwitch as well, strained to identify the contents of the platter and wondered if the others could hear the growling of his stomach.  
  
As the tutor returned to his seat, Shaymur asked, "What happens now, sir?" He pointed to the medallion and the dagger.  
  
The resilience of youth again astonished the tutor. Even presented with a tool of evil designed by the Dark Lord, the boy was capable of focusing on the practicalities.  
  
"A question that will receive much thought, Shaymur, but one with which you boys need not trouble yourselves. If you are all in agreement, I will undertake to arrange matters with the phazgân. After all, that is my task as your representative."  
  
"And the other things too? The ransom for the armband, I mean," said Ferlan, shifting to avoid another jab from Curthan.  
  
"Most certainly. If the House of Tharan does not wish to redeem the medallions or the silver chain, there are alternate buyers available."  
  
Rolfe, dark eyes solemn, said, "We didn't know what that knife was or we would not have kept it secret."  
  
"We didn't want my brother to take it," Ferlan explained. "But now that he knows about it," an accusing glance was aimed at Master Gemthir, "he'll expect a lot of money."  
  
"You shall be most richly compensated, young sirs, for the return of the Blade of Nuphar ," Ahmose replied.  
  
Reassured, Ferlan subsided and directed another longing gaze at the platter on the sideboard. It had been a long time since lunch.  
  
"You don't sell things like that," Karston protested. "It just causes trouble."  
  
Curthan and Rolfe nodded in agreement. Ferlan sighed; he had known they would find a way to be noble and just give the stuff away. At least, they would still get something for the armband.  
  
"What is to be done now that the blade has been recovered?" Shaymur asked as he watched Estev's fists began to clench and unclench.  
  
"My master, as is his right as Phazgân of the House of Tharan, means to destroy it."  
  
Estev bit down on his lip to hold back a loud "no".  
  
"Has anyone tried before?" asked Karston. "I mean ..."  
  
"Yes, young sir, many times." Ahmose replied solemnly. "None have survived the attempt which is why my master has taken the task upon himself. Our hope is that with the defeat of the Dark One, the blade's powers will be diminished and a less demanding means may be found to destroy it forever."  
  
Though the question of what would happen if this hope proved fruitless filled their minds, none spoke the words aloud. For a thought once spoken takes on a life of its own.  
  
His gaze upon the dark dagger of Nuphar, Ahmose again felt the icy fingers of dread. What power did it still possess? Did its failure to claim the minds and hearts of the young Rohirrim and the Gondorian scholar mean that it was no longer a threat? No, that he did not believe. Too much evil had been done because of this blade for him to accept that. 


	17. Part Seventeen

Part Seventeen  
  
Jesse wiggled with impatience; the smell of meat pastries eroding his manners. He had tried beseeching looks and soft whimpers, but his boy made no move to fetch the treats from the high place where they had been set. There was not even the excuse that he was talking, for his boy had not spoken since the woman had brought in the tray.  
  
As his boy continued to ignore his increasingly obvious pleas, the dog began to cast worried looks at the table. He did not like it when his boy sat looking at that strange metal object. It did not smell right. Jesse was certain it was a BAD thing, and always tried to stop his boy from touching it.  
  
Dog's boy did not like it either. Jesse could tell by the way the boy talked about it to Dog. Jesse whimpered again. His boy had talked to him about it when he first found it, telling Jesse how everyone would know that he had been the one to find it and what he would do with all the money he got for it. Jesse was not certain what money was, but he had liked the happy sound of his boy's voice. His voice was not happy now. In fact, he did not speak much at all anymore.  
  
Growling at the table, Jesse thought of taking the metal thing and burying it where his boy would never find it.

* * *

Estev stared miserably at his hands. He had disgraced himself in front of everyone. The sight of the dagger after three days of separation had been more than he could stand. He just wanted to hold it again. To trace the outline of the serpent with his fingertips and to experience again the slight chill that always seemed to linger on the metal. Rubbing his fingers together, he chided himself again for crying over something that was not his.  
  
'But it should be.' A sibilant voice in his head whispered. 'And they mean to take it for themselves.'  
  
His fists clenched and he pounded his thigh. How dare they take what was his.  
  
"No!" shouted Estev. Pushing Jesse's head off his knee, he stood. "I won't let you take it."  
  
"Estev, sit down!" directed Gemthir, stepping between the boy and the table.  
  
Rolfe and Shaymur moved to take Estev's arms and pull him back to his seat, but he twisted away from them to protest, "But Master, he's not going to destroy it. He just wants it. He'll keep it for himself, and then he will have it for his own." Estev's voice dropped away, "You can't let him do that."  
  
Uncertain eyes fastened on the dark man. Was that his plan? To take the blade for himself?  
  
"I swear upon the honor of my House that such is not the truth," Ahmose proclaimed and stood with hand on breast and head bowed. "Young one, you are deceived by the voice of the blade."  
  
"You can't believe him." Estev's face twisted into a startling snarl. "He's one of them. One of the Enemies of Gondor and the Mark. How can you think of giving him such a weapon?"  
  
"Who then should I give it to?" asked Gemthir. The hand the tutor placed lightly on the boy's shoulder was angrily shaken off.  
  
"Give it to me. It's mine."  
  
The dogs howled as Estev lunged with his hand outstretched to take possession of the dagger. Only Rolfe's quick grasp prevented the boy from achieving his goal. Ferlan gasped and pointed at the table where the Blade of Nuphar no longer rested peacefully. The eyes of the serpent glowed, staining the blade red; and as they watched, it began to writhe. Coiling and uncoiling in a dance designed to entrap the eye. A hissing began and grew steadily louder, burrowing into the brain like maggots infesting living flesh.  
  
"Close your eyes!" Shaymur ordered, pulling at Karston who had taken a step toward the knife, "Turn your back on it."  
  
Curthan grabbed Ferlan's shoulders and spun him around. "Don't listen, little man. Those are lies it's telling."  
  
"No, no! It's the truth," Estev insisted, struggling to escape Rolfe's hold on him.  
  
"Nay, it is the voice of evil speaking. Making promises it can not fulfill." Features twisted with pain, the dark man stretched a hand toward the table to draw it back with great effort. The desire to claim the blade for himself grew stronger with each moment.  
  
"Don't you touch it. It's mine!"  
  
In a frenzy, the young Rohirrim flung himself to the floor carrying Rolfe with him. Twisting and cursing, Estev rolled free only to find himself suddenly pinned by the combined weight of Dog and Jesse. Barking and growling, but careful not to bite the boy, they struggled to prevent him from throwing them aside.  
  
Driven to his knees by the pain slicing into his head, Gemthir cried, "Keep it out of his reach!"  
  
"Estev, it's not yours. You can't take it." Rolfe panted, straining to regain his hold on his foster brother. "You gave your word. Share and share alike."  
  
Estev paused in his struggle to escape for barely a heartbeat. "I don't care. It wants me."  
  
The dark man appeared on Estev's other side and captured the boy's chin between firm fingers and forced him to turn his gaze away from the glowing dagger. The hissing grew more demanding as Ahmose stared into the pale blue of the young boy's eyes. They were no longer filled with honesty and curiosity, but with the light of madness the Southron recognized far too well. His fears had proven true. There was but one path left to take.  
  
Briefly touching the medallion upon his breast in silent plea for the forgiveness of his master, the Haradrim demanded, "Will you cast aside your family and friends and give yourself over to its will? Is this what you want?"  
  
"Yes." Estev strained once more toward the table. "It's mine. Give it to me!"  
  
"No!" shouted Rolfe as the stone walls again rang with howls and the younger boy suddenly sagged against him.  
  
The dancing of the serpent ceased as suddenly as it had begun. Silence, blessed silence, filled the room.  
  
Then Karston passed a grimy sleeve across his forehead and shook his head as if to remove the high-pitched hissing from his ears. Curthan pushed a visibly shaken Ferlan onto a bench and assisted Master Gemthir as he climbed awkwardly to his feet. Finding that he was unable to move his head without a sharp shooting pain, the man turned his whole body to survey the room.  
  
Assuring himself that the boys appeared unharmed and controlling the desire to moan, the Gondorian shuffled around to face the Haradrim slumped with his back against one of the benches. A trickle of blood ran from the man's lip and from his posture Gemthir was convinced that the drums pounding in his head were beating in the Southron's as well.  
  
"Are you injured, sir?"  
  
Ahmose began to shake his head, then winced and said faintly. "Save for my head, which a mûmak has stepped on, I am in the best of health."  
  
"Then you feel better than I do." Mindful of his throbbing head, Gemthir lowered himself into his chair and fixed the other man with a steely glare. "Why did you ask him if he wanted the blade?"  
  
"The boy had twice claimed the blade as his own," Ahmose paused, dark eyes unfathomable.  
  
"He didn't mean it. He'd never keep that thing," Rolfe interjected and looked down at Estev who lay, eyes closed and head tilted, as if listening to words that none but himself could hear. Rolfe turned angry eyes on the Haradrim. "You tricked him."  
  
"Your brother withstood the temptations far longer than many would believe possible," said Ahmose, dabbing at the trickle of blood that continued to seep from his lip.  
  
Though deserving of the truth, how much could the young ones accept? He did not believe they realized the path the young Rohirrim had set upon by claiming the blade for his own.  
  
Rolfe frowned. Was it more important that Estev had held off for a day or for ten days; or that in the end he had given in?  
  
"You said he had shields against evil." Rolfe turned accusing eyes on the gaunt-faced tutor. "That we were his shields. Did we fail him?"  
  
"Never think that. We all, especially Estev, did the best we could against a force greater than any of us."  
  
"So what now?" Shaymur said, kneeling beside Rolfe.  
  
When the Haradrim hesitated, Rolfe hissed, "The truth, blast you. Don't you think Estev has paid enough for it?"  
  
"Such a payment should never have been asked from one so young." Ahmose met the boy's anger, but could not find the heart to say that the payment was not yet complete.  
  
"What hope is there of destroying it?" Gemthir pointed a finger at the dagger.  
  
"Three other such gifts have been reclaimed and returned to their Houses. They have been destroyed." Ahmose saw that the scholar had begun to suspect the truth of the situation. With careful words he sought a way to guide the young ones to the unpleasant knowledge. "The blades seek ever to sow evil thoughts. Some men are fertile soil, others are stony ground. Over time, the honor of even the strongest is worn away, but in the beginning it is possible for some to turn their backs."  
  
"In the past, rejection of the blade's claim resulted in a meaningless death. For a new owner would soon be found. Only with the destruction of the blade itself would the oath be broken and no force or spell that we possessed had any effect." Ahmose paused. When he continued, those who heard could not tell if his words were spoken with hope or grief. "Until the defeat of the Dark Lord. Since his passing, if the one who claimed the weapon can find the strength to renounce the power offered, the blade will shatter. It is to be hoped that the young one possesses the strength to reject its call."  
  
"The owners die?" asked Rolfe, the shadow of understanding darkened his eyes.  
  
"Yes, young master," Ahmose bowed his head in weariness, "Vast is my sorrow at telling you this for great has been your service to the House of Tharan."  
  
Desperately Rolfe turned to his teacher, but found no solace in the pain filled eyes of the Gondorian. Rejecting the tutor's placating words, the boy shook his head in disbelief and surged to his feet.  
  
"No! There must be some other way. I'll not let you have him."  
  
Slowly the dark man rose to his full height and lay a hand upon the shoulder of the boy challenging him. "There is no turning from this path now. Your brother claimed the blade for his own. If he finds the strength to renounce it, he will rid the world of its evil forever."  
  
With a slashing motion of his hand, Rolfe rejected the Southron's statement. "And if he can't, will you kill him and find someone else to try?" The truth of this was in the sad eyes that stared down upon him. "And if he succeeds, he's dead anyway?"  
  
"I fear that is so. No other means has been found to destroy the blades."  
  
Rolfe brushed the gentle hand from his shoulder and backed away. He allowed himself only a moment to wish that this evil had never been found before he folded his arms across his chest and said stubbornly, "You'll have to look again. You will not get my brother." 


	18. Part Eighteen

Part Eighteen  
  
If one had been of a mind to delight in absurdities, the tableau within the narrow room would have afforded much humor. An ulbar of the House of Tharan held at bay by a ragtag group of boys, a thin stick of a scholar and two canines of indeterminate breeding. The unpardonable desire to howl with laughter was held in check by the proximity of the ancient blade with its evil history and by the quiet figure who now held all of their futures in his young hands.  
  
"Your brother is already taken. By his own lips, he thrice claimed the Blade of Nuphar for his own, and it answered his call. None who stand within this room can say differently." A slim brown hand gestured toward Master Gemthir and the other boys. "Speak to your brother, young one. See if it is not as I have said."  
  
Dog offered Rolfe a comforting lick as he knelt beside Estev's quiet figure, while Jesse lifted his head and pleaded for his boy. Though Rolfe gave the dogs murmured reassurances, for all his stubborn defiance, he had little confidence that Estev would emerge unharmed. The pale blue eyes remained closed, though one could see his lips move and hear the soft cadence of Rohirrim words. Rolfe strained to understand, but could make out only a word or two. And no word that he spoke received a reply.  
  
Sitting back on his heels, Rolfe sighed, "He's calling for his mother and father."  
  
"Your brother is strong. He fights the blade even yet," Ahmose replied softly from the chair he had retaken.  
  
"His father should be here soon." Master Gemthir gestured toward the window where the afternoon light was fading. "The note Borthond took requested Trader Esiwmas to come as quickly as possible."  
  
"There is no time to lose." The Southron's voice was firm. "Even now the voice of the knife works upon him as water washes away sand. If we are to call upon the young one's honor, we must do so before it is overwhelmed."  
  
"You know little of the Rohirrim, sir, if you believe their honor can be overwhelmed," the tutor responded as the boys glared at this insult.  
  
Ahmose tipped his head. "I cast no slur and speak only from my knowledge of the blade. If time were not so precious, I would ask that we send for my master as he has the greater knowledge; but I fear delay."  
  
At Estev's side, Rolfe watched with sinking heart as the younger boy moaned and twisted in an effort to escape the voices only he now heard. How much longer could he hold out? The Haradrim had not told the full story of this blade, yet Rolfe had witnessed enough atrocities during and after the War to know that he had no desire to watch as his brother became a tool for this remnant of evil. Better to be dead, than to accept such a fate. To fight to the end, that was the Rohirrim way.  
  
Rolfe tipped his head upward. His young face had hardened and revealed the man he would someday become. "What must we do?"  
  
The Haradrim pressed his fingers to his forehead in salute, then murmured softly in his own tongue before saying, "Speak to him. Remind him as you did before of the agreement made amongst you." Ahmose indicated the four boys standing guard about their friend. "Of the dishonor if he forsakes that pledge."  
  
"No, Rolfe," Master Gemthir interrupted. "Speak not only about the bargain you boys made, but also of those things that helped him to withstand this evil thus far. His family and his friends. He has been deceived. Your job is to help him look beneath the lies and see the truth."  
  
Rolfe settled beside Estev and began to speak, first in Westron, then gradually switching to an occasionally stumbling Rohirric. He talked for what seemed ages, speaking first of the hunt for the dagger and the other objects they had found and what would be done with them. Later he began to tell of the family in Rohan. Simple tales of everyday events. It was not until Rolfe was speaking of their older brother, Esdav, and the trip they had taken to the spring in the hills that Estev gave any indication that he was listening.  
  
"I remember," the younger boy whispered, eyes still closed. "Esdav ate all the food, and we went hungry. Sort of like taking Ferlan on a picnic." He opened one eye and waved in the farm lad's direction, then winced. "It hurts."  
  
Concern tightened Rolfe's voice. "What does?"  
  
"My head." Estev lifted a hand and pressed it against his forehead. "When I try to think of something good, it buzzes like hornets."  
  
"You've got to keep trying though." Rolfe sought desperately for a new topic. "Remember the hornets in the tree by the river?"  
  
A shadow of a smile flitted across the younger boy's face. "Mud. Mother put mud on all the stings. We looked like speckled lizards."  
  
The description drew a nervous laugh from the boys shifting uncertainly around them.  
  
"Like that one sunning on the rock the other day. Dog tried to catch it," reminded Curthan, reaching down to pat the canine's head. "But he only chased it up Ferlan's trouser leg."  
  
"Had to take them off to get the blasted thing out," muttered Ferlan as the others grinned at the memory.  
  
"Dog caught the tail." Estev paled and grimaced, but went on talking. "Jesse doesn't try to catch them. He likes better odds."  
  
Hearing his name, Jesse nudged Estev's hand and received a lethargic pat. "Good dog. He tried to stop me, you know? So did Dog. But I wouldn't listen to them."  
  
Master Gemthir leaned forward in his chair. Would the animals' devotion to the boy prove to be a factor in the battle Estev now fought?  
  
"Tried to stop what?"  
  
"Me. From touching it. Every time I went to look at it, they tried to keep me away."  
  
"Intelligent animals."  
  
"It whispered to me sometimes. Usually when I touched it. It didn't talk so loud then." Squeezing his eyes shut, his face tight with pain, Estev pleaded. "I wish it would stop. How do I make it stop?"  
  
Unable to answer, Rolfe appealed to Ahmose who replied, "To silence the voice of evil, you must thrice reject its claim over you."  
  
Eyes still closed, Estev raised his eyebrows and attempted a grin. "That doesn't sound difficult, so it probably is. But I do want it to stop, I can't hear the music any more."  
  
"Music?" Rolfe asked.  
  
"That day when Curthan danced," Estev swallowed and dug his fingers into Jesse's fur. "After that, I kept hearing that music. It made the voice stop sometimes."  
  
Shaymur patted the younger boy's arm. "Maybe Karston can play it now."  
  
"I don't know. It wasn't something memorized," the baker boy protested. "It just happened. Listening to the wind in the grass."  
  
"Try," urged Curthan.  
  
"Yes, lad, do," encouraged Gemthir.  
  
As he drew his recorder from his pocket, Karston licked his lips and rubbed his forehead with his sleeve again. He blew a series of notes, shook his head and frowned.  
  
"No, that wasn't it."  
  
Closing his eyes, Karston tapped out a rhythm with his foot before lifting the recorder again. At first the melody stumbled and stuttered, providing only momentary glimpses of water flowing or leaves floating. Then, the music gathered the thin breeze fluttering the curtains at the open window and began to weave a tapestry of spring: dew drops sparkling in the early morning, yellow daisies dancing in the meadow, and through it all a strand of bright sunshine.  
  
As the tune swirled to an end, Estev sighed deeply and sank back against Dog's solid form. "Better. I can think now."  
  
Grasping Rolfe's hand with his right hand and threading the left through the fur at Jesse's neck, the boy opened his eyes. "Sarantha likes to say, 'Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.' I really should have listened to her." Putting aside his humor, Estev said quietly, "Rolfe, you will tell Father that I listened to him? Make certain that he knows I kept my word."  
  
The glint of tears shone until Rolfe brushed them aside with a sleeve to say firmly, "You will tell him yourself, Estev. He'll be here soon. Just hold on until then."  
  
"I don't dare wait." Shrugging his shoulders, he fixed the blade with a narrow eyed gaze and inhaled deeply.  
  
In a clear voice that echoed from the corners of the stone room, he said, "I, Estev son of Esiwmas of the Deeping Stream, renounce my claim to the Blade of Nuphar."  
  
An ear-piercing whine filled the room; and all, save Estev and Rolfe, clapped their hands over their ears. Dog moaned and shivered, pressing his bulk against Rolfe's side.  
  
Sweat beaded on his forehead and swallowing convulsively to maintain control of his roiling stomach, the young Rohirrim forced out the words, "I renounce my claim."  
  
Rolfe's face contorted with pain as the bones in his hand fractured under the strength of Estev's white knuckled grip while Jesse yipped and cowered. Upon the low table, the serpent's dance began once more as the dagger darkened to the shade of long dried blood. Ferlan and Karston dropped to their knees as the blade's whining hiss wound up to a crescendo of agonizing sound.  
  
"Once more, young master." The golden medallion upon his neck swung in a hypnotizing arc as the man leaned forward.  
  
Bright blood dripped from Estev's lip and sinews stood out along his neck as he struggled to utter the final words. Harsh and guttural, spoken from between teeth clenched against the pain that drove into his brain like a spear, the words came out in tortured gasps.  
  
"No. No. I don't want it."  
  
The words spoken, the boy's body arched bowlike, then collapsed motionless between his two supports.  
  
Slit eyed against the pain, Gemthir watched tiny cracks form upon the Blade of Nuphar. The dogs lifted their heads and howled as the cracks lengthened. The serpent writhed futilely beneath a haze of crisscrossing lines as with the sharp snap of breaking ice the blade shattered while the copper and iron bands bound upon the hilt twisted as if held to the smith's fire.  
  
Silence echoed from the stone walls, and all gazed in numb disbelief at the splintered remains.  
  
From somewhere outside the window came the sound of a robin insistently chirping, and those within the room considered how bizarre was the contrast between such ordinary birdsong and the events which had just occurred.  
  
"Is it over?" Ferlan jerked at the loudness of his voice.  
  
"Aye, little master." The Southron bowed his head solemnly and touched the medallion upon his breast. "Your friend has triumphed over the ancient evil. My House will be forever in your debt."  
  
All eyes turned then to the group huddled upon the floor. The two dogs pressed against their masters. Shaymur sat supporting Rolfe who, with tears staining his cheeks, brushed a blond strand from Estev's forehead. 


	19. Part Nineteen

Part Nineteen:  
  
Calm heads and cool thinking are not traits commonly assigned to those of the Riddermark. They are better known for their fierceness in battle, their dogged determination to stand against even the most outrageous odds, and their intense devotion to family. Qualities that were very much in evidence in the defiant stance of the towering figure of Esiwmas of Rohan.  
  
"My son's life can not be bought." The rolling accent of Rohan lent the words a softness that was in opposition with the grim features revealed by the glow of the oil lamp hanging above the table.  
  
Head bent in respect, Ahmose said, "Nay, honored sir, you mistake my intentions. No price could be set for the service your son has done for the House of Tharan. We seek only to...."  
  
"Do not insult me with your offers." Forcing down the demon of anger born of the Southron's words, the Rohirrim replied, "There is not gold enough in all of Harad to begin to compensate me for the harm you have done my family."  
  
Stepping between the two men, Master Gemthir said, "Let us delay any discussion of this nature until we know the extent of the damage wrought here. What say the healers?"  
  
Fury drained away, leaving only a grieving father. "That he sleeps. There is no visible injury, yet he does not wake." With a sharp gesture, the trader said, "They say it is best to allow him to wake on his own, but...he is slipping away. I can see it. And there is nothing I can do."  
  
Gemthir sighed. When Curthan had knelt beside Estev's still form and pressed probing fingers alongside his windpipe to announce, "Faint, but steady", they had all been hopeful. But with each passing hour, that hope grew ever more frail.  
  
"And Rolfe?"  
  
"The hand has been splinted. He refused the healer's potions and sits at his brother's side even yet."  
  
Esiwmas passed a hand over his eyes. He had been driven from the room upstairs by the need to do something, anything, other than sit helplessly and watch his son sink ever deeper into a sleep from which there was little hope of awakening.  
  
"His loyalty is commendable. The young master does not understand the danger he faced. It has happened before that brother killed brother."  
  
Face flushed with renewed anger, Esiwmas stepped around the tutor to confront the Haradrim. In a deathly still voice he said, "You dare suggest my son is capable of kinslaying?"  
  
"Worse has been done under the influence of the Blade of Nuphar." The Haradrim waited silently until the blond giant before him clenched his fist and withdrew it from the hilt of the long knife at his side. "Your sons, Master Trader, fought evil until the end. Together they stood and defeated it. Their names will be recited with honor by the House of Tharan."  
  
"One must wonder, sir, if it is possible to hear such recitations from the barrow," Esiwmas replied coldly. Turning on his heel, he brushed past the Gondorian and strode from the room.  
  
Ahmose's head dropped to his chest, his black hair shadowing his face. Tilting his head, he could see the locked chest containing the splintered remains of the blade that had been his life's focus. The memory of the day he had given oath to Karif, third son of Gimilzôr, was ever clear in his mind though it had been more than five decades ago. Only a child then, his master had by some fate survived the passing of the Blade of Nuphar. By the blood of his brothers, spilt by the eldest in his initial madness, Karif had sworn to do whatever was required to free the Houses of Harad.  
  
Terrible though the evil of the blade had been this day, there had been times of even greater horror in the past. Whatever the price demanded for its destruction, it was well spent, or so he had always believed.  
  
When the trader discovered the full extent of the part he had played in the events of the afternoon, the man would return to exact appropriate retribution. It would not be denied. If truth be known, death would be a blessing for it would release him from the guilt he would carry always. Young Rolfe had said that there must be another way. Had he been neglectful in seeking other paths? Could one have been found in time to save the young Rohirrim?  
  
"You are certain there is no hope?"  
  
The Gondorian's question so coincided with his thoughts that Ahmose wondered if the man possessed the ability to read another's mind.  
  
"In life there is ever hope." The Haradrim hesitated, and then shook his head in sorrow. "Yet this is less than a fool's hope. For those taken by the blade, death or descent into madness have been the only paths. The latter is not a fate I would wish upon the young one or those who care for him."  
  
"A fool's hope was the salvation of us all, just three short years ago." The tutor's narrow face appeared carved of stone. "As you said yourself, there are forces in this world beyond our understanding, for both good and evil. Let us continue to hope."  
  
"The wise say that one may judge a man's wisdom by his hopes," responded the Haradrim.  
  
Indicating chairs at a small table where rested a tray bearing an earthen pitcher and several cups, Gemthir added, "It is also said that there is no wisdom in useless and hopeless sorrow."  
  
Briefly touching his fingertips to his breast and then his forehead, Ahmose answered, "Then we will not mourn before we must."  
  
The tutor filled a small cup with steaming liquid and passed it to the Southron, waving him into the seat opposite him. Dawn was approaching and who knew what the new day would bring.

* * *

Upon a narrow bed, Jesse lay stretched along his boy's side, staring unblinking at the still face. The only indication that the boy yet lived was the slow rise and fall of his chest. Early on, attempts had been made to remove the dog from his chosen position; each time he had returned, silent yet persistent in his devotion, until the large man had sternly insisted he be left in peace.  
  
Beside the bed, his great head resting upon Rolfe's knee, Dog held his own vigil and remembered a tall man with golden hair and the dark night when he had gone where Dog could not follow. The man had left behind an emptiness that was not right; a dog should have a master. For days Dog had been confused, then for a brief moment his man had returned and let him know that he had a new job to do, a new master to care for. Gently he licked the fingers upon his boy's bandaged hand. If Jesse's boy did not awaken, he would offer to share his.  
  
Rolfe stroked Dog's head with his right hand then carefully moved his left onto the arm of the chair. The fingers sticking out above the white bandages were swollen and tender to the touch. The healer would scold him for not keeping it elevated like he had been told and would probably try to force another noxious potion upon him as well. But he would not take it. Not until ... Rolfe could not finish the thought, fresh tears welled up. It was all his fault. He was older; it was his job to take care of Estev. He should have told someone. Made them listen and understand, even if it did make him seem foolish.  
  
"Don't do that, son," Esiwmas' gruff voice broke the silence of the room. "You'll hurt yourself even more if you bang it about."  
  
Startled from his thoughts, Rolfe realized that he had been pounding his arm against the chair. His voice thick with tears, he said harshly, "I should be hurt."  
  
Strong arms lifted the boy from his chair and held him tightly. "No, son. You cannot take the blame for all the evil in the world."  
  
"But what if he dies?" For the first time in that long night, Rolfe voiced his worst fear.  
  
Esiwmas' chest expanded with a long shuddering breath, and a heavy hand was placed upon Rolfe's head as the man exhaled slowly. From the curtainless windows, the gray light before dawn revealed the glittering course of tears upon his face.  
  
"Then my son, we will sing a song for his victory and mourn as we must."

* * *

Where he was or how he came to be there, he did not know. Nor was he concerned with such thoughts. All that was important was that he wandered within the most glorious garden he had ever seen. Flowers bloomed everywhere, scenting the air with a heady perfume. Roses, daisies, jonquils and countless others he recognized, though by their size and vibrant colors he knew them to be as unique as those he could not name. The hum of bees filled the air and mingled with the splashing song of the rivulet running alongside the path of white stone. Grass, greener and softer than any he had known before, added a rustling undertone that enticed him to seat himself beneath a towering tree with pale golden leaves.  
  
Time passed, though he knew not how long, and he became aware of a soft rhythmic sound. Not wanting to leave the garden; but drawn to locate the source of the strangely familiar sound, he rose and walked slowly forward upon the path.  
  
At the path's end, or perhaps it was the beginning, there stood a gazebo carved from pale gray stone. Through the latticed sides, he could see two women. One, dressed all in gray, sat upon a low stool sorting through a basket of brilliantly colored yarns. The other was seated before a tapestry loom, one hand tossing the shuttle while the other used a wooden beater to tap down the weft. Without pause she pulled the shed roll toward her and repeated the process.  
  
Climbing the three steps to the gazebo, he hesitated until the woman at the loom turned her head.  
  
"We have been waiting for you, little one."  
  
For a moment he stood bedazzled, her voice was the music of the stream in the garden and her eyes the gray of mist upon the mountains. She smiled and returned her gaze to the strands she wove.  
  
The image of another woman seated before a loom crept into his thoughts and he said, "My mother does that."  
  
"All mothers weave, little one. Be it cloth or dreams." The weaver slowed the rhythm of her hands and motioned to him. "Come, tell me what you think."  
  
Stepping to the loom, he looked upon the tapestry. At first, it appeared only a tangle of thread, but as he focused upon one section the images woven there became clear. A boy upon a horse raced across a meadow dotted with pale yellow flowers. Tilting his head, he looked upon another section. The same blond boy was seated before an open window; a slate on the table before him.  
  
Backing away, he shook his head. "I don't want to see the rest. "  
  
The woman in gray said quietly, "Why is that, little one?"  
  
"Because." He closed his eyes and dropped his head. "Because it's me."  
  
"Yes," the woman at the loom affirmed. "It is the tapestry of your life, thus far."  
  
"I don't want to see it."  
  
Setting aside the basket of yarns, the woman in gray stood and rested her hand upon the boy's cheek. Jerking away from the comfort that flowed from her touch, he dashed hot tears from his eyes.  
  
"No, I don't deserve it. I was so stupid. I believed everything it told me."  
  
"Yet in the end, you recognized the lies for what they were." The weaver pointed a slim, pale finger at a place near the edge of the tapestry. "See, here is the tale. There is no reason to deny yourself solace. You accomplished the task set before you."  
  
Again the gray clad woman reached out to the boy. With his acceptance of her touch, shame and guilt were washed away, though memory of his actions remained for it is only through experience that wisdom is gained. Lifting his chin, she spoke again. No words did he hear, only the music of the wind dancing in the trees and rain upon the surface of a lake. Her gentle smile carried the warmth of spring sunshine and her eyes reflected the light of a child's happiness; the light that once again shone within the boy's.  
  
"Go with the grace of the Valar, little one, for you have done well," the weaver said as the boy stepped back from the other's embrace.  
  
"Go?" the boy asked in confusion. "Am I not..."  
  
"Nay, child, look upon my weaving," chided the lady of the loom. "Can you not see it is far from complete? Many are the tales to be told before this tapestry reaches its end."  
  
"But..." He looked longingly toward the entryway leading back to the garden.  
  
"You shall return to the garden, little one, when your part of the telling is finished. Until that time you must learn to hear the Music of Life, it will fill you with the same peace that is in my lord's garden." Tracing a finger along his jaw, the gray clad lady touched his nose lightly. "But you must take care to heed what you hear."  
  
"Yes, ma'am." The boy ducked his head in embarrassment. "I'll try."  
  
"That is all that might be asked, even of the mighty." Pointing toward a second entryway, one he would have sworn had not been there before, she said, "Your path is there, little one."  
  
As he descended the steps of the gazebo, the weaver changed her bobbin; this portion of the tale would require brighter colors. 


	20. Part Twenty

Part Twenty

"I'm hungry."

Cool droplets of water flew as a shirtless Ferlan shook his head and dropped down beside Karston.

"When aren't you?" the baker boy muttered, slapping aside the hand reaching toward the large baskets set between the roots of an enormous oak.

"Just one slice of bread," Ferlan pleaded.

"Little man," laughed Curthan, draping a towel about his neck and dropping another upon the smaller boy's head, "those baskets were provided by Mistresses Tarmanil and Sarantha. There is not the slightest possibility you would eat one slice of bread and stop. So mind your manners and wait for the guests of honor to arrive."

A mere three days had passed since the shattering of the Blade of Nuphar, yet to the boys eagerly watching the road from the City it seemed an event of the distant past. The worst that could have happened had not, and though more than one nightmare would pull them from future dreams, during their waking moments their thoughts were ever filled with matters of the present.

First had been the long hours of explanation to fearful parents and guardians. Much of this, to the boys' relief, was dealt with by Master Gemthir and the Haradrim Ahmose. Next, there had been a carefully conducted search of the field where all of the artifacts had been found. Though the boys greatly enjoyed supervising the Haradrim servants as they scoured the field, nothing else of value had been discovered. Of course, one might consider the accumulation of seven barrows of broken weapons, a silver chain, four golden medallions, a jeweled armband and an enspelled dagger riches enough.

At the insistence of the other boys, it had been decided that no compensation would be accepted for the discovery of the dagger or the four badges of the House of Tharan. Ferlan's outrage at this decision had been tempered by the amount of ransom negotiated for the golden armband. Later, he had been disgusted to learn that his portion was to be carefully invested for his future with only a tiny allowance to be released quarterly, though Harlan's share, slightly reduced in percentage after strenuous negotiation with Master Gemthir and Trader Esiwmas, was to be distributed immediately.

From his perch in the boughs of the oak, Shaymur shouted, "They're coming."

Standing and shielding their eyes against the afternoon sun, the boys saw a cloud of dust that grew larger to become a small cart driven by Master Gemthir and pulled by a matched pair of bay ponies.

Swinging down from the tree and landing lightly beside Karston, Shaymur reached for his shirt and tossed Curthan's to him. A sharp whistle echoed across the distance and their eyes fastened upon the golden-haired boy standing and waving wildly from the rear of the cart. Attempting to pull him back into his seat, a task made impossible by the sling imprisoning one arm, was Rolfe. Opposite the two brothers sat Ahmose, his wide smile visible even from a distance. Suddenly, two figures threw themselves from the cart and raced toward the group of boys.

"No, no. Stop, Dog. Don't do that!" shouted Ferlan just before the black and tan animal leapt up and knocked him to the ground, then proceeded to lick him enthusiastically.

Jesse, having better manners, contented himself with turning happy circles and barking loudly whenever one of the boys gave him a pat.

"Whoa," called Master Gemthir drawing to a stop beneath the oak. With a flourish, he tossed the lines to Curthan and jumped lightly down from the cart. For the first time the boys noticed that in spite of his thinning hair and solemn features, the tutor was not an old man.

"No, young master, you will not leap over the side." Ahmose's patient voice was firm as he took Estev's elbow and directed him to the rear of the cart.

"Are you going to lift me down like you did Mistress Tarmanil this morning?" asked the boy with an impish grin.

"Not unless you are able to bake cinnamon cakes of the same quality," responded the Haradrim as he stepped from the cart and turned to offer Rolfe a steadying hand.

"Impossible," declared Estev. He waited until Rolfe was clear, then bounded from the cart to land in the midst of his friends.

While the boys, with the assistance of the two dogs, greeted each other with an enthusiasm that would have staggered a strong man, Ahmose exchanged amused looks with the Gondorian tutor.

When Curthan and Ferlan attempted to lift a protesting Rolfe to their shoulders, Master Gemthir remarked dryly, "Gentlemen, please be more careful with him. I do not wish to spend another hour listening to the healer complain that no one follows his orders."

"He should be used to it by now," stated Estev from the ground where he had landed after Karston sidestepped the attack the younger boy had launched.

"In your case he has given up trying." Rolfe gave Ferlan a one-handed shove and reached down to pull his brother to his feet.

Estev grinned, for that was indeed what the healer who examined him this morning had proclaimed. His father had laughed loudly at the man and asked if he honestly expected anything different from a Rider of the Riddermark. When the healer responded with a long suffering sigh and a heartfelt "No", Esiwmas had given the man a resounding clap on the back and sent him on his way.

"I hope so. It is so boring to answer the same questions over and over and over again. Even Master Gemthir doesn't do that."

"As consequence for that impudence, young man, we will resume our lessons this very moment." The tutor clapped his hands and waved the boys into a ragged line. Striding along before them, he gazed pointedly at Ferlan's half clad body, dappled now with leaves and mud. "Gentlemen, it has come to my attention that your education is sadly lacking. A situation I mean to begin correcting this very moment."

Ferlan groaned, only to be silenced by a jab in the ribs from Curthan and the stern eye of Master Gemthir.

"Master Ahmose, if you would." Gemthir waved toward the front of the cart.

The Haradrim, with a decidedly sober expression, bowed low and stepped over to pull a long bundle wrapped in oiled skins from beneath the seat. All eyes were fixed upon the Southron as he knelt before the tutor and unrolled the skins. The boys stood with open-mouthed disbelief as the contents were revealed.

Ignoring his pupils' astonishment, Gemthir paced back and forth before them waving his hands. "This afternoon we will test my hypothesis that river trout prefer crayfish to dragonflies or grasshoppers. I expect each and every one of you to give it your complete attention."

"Yes, sir," the boys exclaimed with pleasure.

The matter of how to test Master Gemthir's hypothesis in the most scientific method was then hotly debated until Karston declared that the tutor had forgotten to include worms in his list of bait. With the inclusion of this well-known piscine delicacy, it was decided that each type of bait would be tested by a pair of anglers. Having settled the parameters of their experiment, it was only minutes before the eight anglers took up positions along the shadowed shores of the Anduin.

Partnered with Master Gemthir, Estev listened eagerly to the tutor's instructions concerning the secrets of using crayfish as bait. After setting his line, the boy lay back upon the grassy bank and closed his eyes.

The buzz of insects and the murmur of the river as it slipped by on its journey to the far off sea combined to create a gentle harmony that wrapped them in peace.

After a time, Estev grinned and announced, "I hear it."

"What is that, lad?"

"The river. It's singing." The boy rolled over on his stomach and tipped his head back to meet the tutor's eyes.

The tutor smiled at the seriousness of the boy's tone, then nodded his agreement. "Long ago, when I was a lad, my grandsire use to say, 'Listen to the sound of the river and you will get a trout.'"

"Did you listen?"

The tutor shook his head. "Not often enough, my boy, but from now on I mean to try."

Estev, his young face more serious than a bright spring afternoon required, nodded, then his voice dropped to a whisper. "That is all that might be asked, even of the mighty."

Regarding the boy with surprise, the tutor replied, "I suppose it is."

* * *

Setting his silver cup precisely upon the table before him, Karif Phazgân of the House of Tharan watched the play of shadows on the distant mountains. Beyond those heights was the shattered land where once had dwelt his great enemy, the spirit of evil that had laid waste to his House and land for generations. Now, after so many years of battle, it seemed there was hope of final victory.  
  
Without taking his eyes from the Mountains of Shadow, he said, "The young one has recovered."  
  
"So it does appear, my master. His father has arranged for the boy and his brother to travel to their home in Rohan within the week."  
  
Ahmose knelt upon a red cushion to the left of the phazgân's low stool. His eyes too were turned eastward, though drawn to the silvery length of the Anduin.  
  
"Has the Trader forgiven our use of his son?"  
  
Head lowered in recognition of his failure in this respect, Ahmose replied, "No, my master." He had offered the Rohirrim his life, but the man had refused it, saying that there had been enough death. "He tolerates my presence at his sons' request, but anger burns still within his heart."  
  
"As it should. Never fear, my friend, we will find a way to repay our debt to the boy and his family."  
  
The servant touched his fingers to his forehead in acceptance of his master's wisdom, then waited motionless for Karif to speak again.  
  
"The hilts of two other daggers were discovered yesterday near Cair Andros."  
  
Ahmose dropped his head in momentary thanksgiving that their evil would no longer trouble the world. Then the dread that had been his companion for the long years of his service to the House of Tharan came once more to the surface, and he asked, "Know we now how many yet exist?"  
  
With a slow shake of his head, Karif said, "Three of the Twenty Houses have refused to comply with the Kâthuphazgân's request. Whether they do so from fear or some other purpose has not yet been determined."  
  
The twilight deepened and the first stars began to appear while the two men sat silent. Stars had always been a sign of hope, for surely no world which possessed such beauty could be completely evil. Tonight, however, they held little comfort.  
  
With a deep sigh, the phazgân rose and signaled that the other man might rise as well. Walking to the stone wall running around the rooftop, he said quietly, "Have we become the very thing we have fought so long against?"  
  
"The thought has troubled my mind as well, my master." Ahmose hesitated, then went on, "I do not know that I could again use another as we used the young Rohirrim."  
  
"It is to be hoped that you will not be put to the test."  
  
Bowing low, Ahmose responded softly, "As the wise have said, a man's wisdom may be judged by his hopes."  
  
In silent agreement, the two men turned their study to the shadowed fields beyond the walls of the White City.

**The End**

* * *

_Author's note: The setting was borrowed from Tolkien, the inspiration for the events are based on the situations he set up and upon the African dagger pictured at bladegallery.com under Featured Knives. _

___Characters are a product of my imagination and that of other Burping Troll Adventurers (thanks to the Bearman for Rolfe and Dog) save for Jesse, who lives with his hobbit, Erin, and likes to herd sheep and convince two legs to throw his blue rubber ball for hours and hours._

_Special thanks to Celebsul and ErinRua, who went above and beyond the call of duty to support me during the creation of this tale. And to all the Burping Troll Adventurers for reading this story and catching the really stupid mistakes. The homebase for the Adventurers is burpingtroll.com where you can find a wide selection of stories both long and short._

_Reviews are always appreciated._

Sevilodorf

PS The only payment a fanfic writer receives is reviews. Much thanks go to KaliedescopeCat, dragonfly, dragonfly32, Pyro She-devil and geegi for their reviews.

* * *

_When reading stories with unusual character names, I find a character list handy. _

Characters:  
  
1. Estev: b. January 3012, Deeping Stream, Rohan, second son of Esiwmas and Irosa. Fair haired. Short and sturdy. Alternates trips to Minas Tirith with his brother Esdav.  
  
2. Rolfe: b. March 3011, dark haired, dark eyed, adopted by Esiwmas after parents killed in a raid on The Burping Troll. (See "The Mysterious Stranger" on file at burpingtroll.com )  
  
3. Esiwmas: b. 2982 Rohan. Divides time between Rohan and Minas Tirith. Has established trade and shipping routes between Rohan and Minas Tirith, south to Linhir, over the mountains to Lake Nurnen and in Henneth Annun. Tall, blond giant of a man.  
  
4. Master Gemthir: middle aged, Gondor, tutor. thin, bony, son of Ralthir.  
  
5. Ferlan: 11, thin, dark shaggy hair, perpetual dirt streak across his forehead, older brother, Harlan, is a farmer,  
  
6. Curthan: 11, son of Curthimir, tall and heavy for age, dark haired, son of one of the gate guards, brother dead.  
  
7. Shaymur: 12, freckle faced, dark, leader of bunch, lives with mother's parents, spends time as guide to city to earn money.  
  
8. Karston: 12, son of a baker, works loading the ovens for his father, mother dead, plays the recorder.  
  
9. Dog: large, black and tan.  
  
10. Jesse: medium sized herd dog, black and white.  
  
11. Sarantha: elderly Rohirrim, cousin to Esiwmas in some fashion, keeps house for him  
  
12. Tarmanil: Gondorian woman, housekeeper to Master Gemthir  
  
13. Ahmose: Southron, Ulbar of the House of Tharan  
  
14. Karif Phazgân: Southron, head of the House of Tharan,.  
  
15. Borthond: young Gondorian, Master Gemthir's kitchen boy. 


End file.
